How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord Almighty!
My soul yearns, even faints, for the courts of the Lord;
my heart and my flesh cry cry out for the living God.
I picked up some blueberries on my way home from work. The joy of it was that instead of going to Price Chopper or Roche Brothers, I went to the Nourse Farm in Westborough, where they sold fresh-picked blueberries straight from their own fields. I then rode home with the berries carefully stowed in my bag.
As I rode, and later as I enjoyed the fruits (pun intended) of my labor, I reveled in the fabulous feeling of knowing that this food came from less than 10 miles from my house. It wasn’t grown in California and shipped with great expense and CO2 emissions to my local grocery store, or transported to our house in a car. It didn’t even come from New Jersey, as most of our blueberries do these days. Nope; these blueberries are as local as they come, and my clear conscience makes every berry taste all the sweeter.