Bumper Crop

There is a bench behind a church in Towson that overlooks a gentle 5-acre wooded landscape. Edging a garden made as part of an eagle-scout project, it sits atop land that, languorously at first and then more steeply, slopes away.

This is a seductive forest, clear enough of underbrush to lure your sight deep into its retreating woods, yet thick enough to offer a tantalizing whiff of danger.

It boasts mature trees and babies, 2-foot diameter elders surrounded by 2-inch diameter saplings.

And it was there, at the edge of this forest, sitting on this bench, that I found myself dwarfed, surrounded, inundated and swamped by acorns. Not the normal bunch that might fall in a particular spot in an ordinary year in the season of fruiting. But dozens, hundreds, even thousands of them. On the bench, on the walk, on the forest floor before me, not to mention those still precariously dangling above.

Anyone anywhere near an oak this year all along the eastern portion of the United States has noticed that there is something up with these trees: they have mass produced the seeds of their offspring!

Such an occurrence happens in a mast year, when all the trees of a certain species produce nuts in great profusion. Why or how they manage this synchronized surfeit is still something of a mystery. But here it is, this year, in an almost embarrassing display of fecundity.

How wonderful, though, to be reminded that life does not always unfold steadily, in sync with the plodding, predictable, metronomic constancy of time.

Most of the time, we go along, day after day, week after week, even year after year, doing the predictable; not surprising or astonishing ourselves, or anyone else in any way. There is the comfort of dependability in that; an air of expectation and fulfillment that we need as we negotiate past the many potential hazards of life.

Yet, on occasion, predictability can feel boring, even oppressive. The truth is, that while society needs systems that are built upon reliability and no surprises, it also needs to be goosed every now and then. That is how progress happens.

So blessedly, in unpredictable frequencies, for still-mysterious reasons, we discover one day that as we mindlessly reach for the rolls at lunch, we instead come up with great nuggets of discovery and imagination.

Life is not an even trajectory. It is bumpy, uneven, unpredictable, surprising. Who knows when our personal mast years (or even just mast days, perhaps mast hours!) will come. But come they do. And they are astonishing and energizing times of wonder. We cannot force them. We just have to be patient, continue our daily work, and wait for them. And then, we must celebrate when they come.

Meanwhile, go grab a bucket, fill it with acorns, and explore all the things you can do with them. Here are some tips to get you started.