Navigating Abundance

We live in an age of extravagance. Learning to be content with abundance is the antidote we need.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

It is blackberry season here in the ‘Land of Eternal Sunshine’ (the ever so slightly tongue-in-cheek name I give to my home county of Essex, England). The berries in the Non-Conformist cemetery behind our house are already shrivelled up — casualties of the relentless and scorching “Indian Summer” England has been basking in — but a few miles away on the Common land I visited last week, the berries were only just ripening. These wild bramble bushes laden with scarlet berries which will soon become black, juicy, and ready for harvesting. Now is the time of year when nature’s abundance is on full and glorious display. It is an abundance for all to enjoy without exclusion: rich or poor, young or old, native or foreigner — for nature does not discriminate.

It is an abundance, though, that increasingly seems to be going to waste.

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It was once an annual tradition for many of us on both sides of the “Pond” to go blackberry picking in the late summer. Our earliest memories of this event probably consist of us as a child clutching a basket beside our grandmother, watching as she quickly and deftly gleaned the bushes of their goodness while ignoring the scratches and cuts that were rapidly populating her bare arms. At the end of the afternoon, the reward of a sweaty few hours labouring under the sun was a basket (or two) full to the brim of rich, juicy, sun-ripened blackberries that would be made into jams, crumbles, and syrups when we returned home.

Later on in life, many of us have continued the late summer tradition that we inherited by taking our own children out to the lanes, glades, and fields to forage for nature’s bounty and to rekindle those precious childhood memories. It is an abundance we make sure not to miss.

Sadly, though, in the modern technological — and increasingly virtual — age most of us now inhabit, many of the bushes laden with rich goodness around us goodness remain unpicked, their fruit shrivelling up or rotting away as we pass (or drive) on by. Children sit at home aimlessly playing video games instead of playing outside and foraging for sweet treats, and increasingly harried parents — juggling too many responsibilities — find little time to take their screen addicted children into the great outdoors. Unpicked, and unnoticed, the berries rot on the bushes.

It is not only blackberries that go to waste; everyday we walk or drive past wild foods our ancestors would have made ready and proficient use of: wild garlic, sloe, hedge mustard, crab apple, and more. Foods that for our want of knowing their names and our lack of identification skills, go unwanted, ignored, and uneaten in this age of extravagant waste.

Even the fruits that grow in our own gardens are often wasted — which is tragic when we consider just how easily accessible this rich bounty is. I am reminded of this every time I walk to my parents’ house. On my journey, I pass underneath a fig tree whose branches overhang a tall brick wall beside the pavement. Each year, the pavement becomes sodden with rotting figs — a delicious bounty whose sorry end is starkly portrayed on the pavement for all to see. Instead of being a gift to enjoy, these sticky and slippery rotting figs become a trip hazard, an inconvenience, a pitiful waste. Our modern propensity to waste what we have been gifted with would horrify our war time relatives who lived under rationing — and it should grieve us too.

Of course nothing in nature really goes to waste. Many of the berries that are unpicked by human hands will be plucked off the stalk by blackbirds and song thrushes or gulped down by foxes and badgers; these are the creatures the berries are designed to feed and who will disperse the seeds to pastures new. Even the berries which remain uneaten — the ones shrivelled and ugly on the branches — will eventually return to the soil, thus fertilising next year’s bounty. The circle of life ensures nothing is ultimately wasted, apart from the human opportunity to enjoy what nature provides.

It was as I was picking blackberries in the cemetery a few weeks back for the crumble that my wife was making for our after-church guests, that I pondered on why I was the only one taking advantage the abundance in front of me. As far as I could tell, no one else was picking blackberries here, even though this cemetery is in a prominent location just off a busy main road. In the supermarket at the end of the road, blackberries fetch a dear price, yet a few hundred metres from the supermarket blackberries are going free. Free to your hearts content. What can explain this irrational mystery — this mystery of unexploited abundance?

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“I don’t what to get my hands dirty”

For many, the answer surely lies in the “inconvenience” of being out in nature to gather one’s food. For them, it really is an intolerable inconvenience. In the age of the supermarket, common is the belief that one should never have to physically labour for one’s food, even for food that might be had for free. Hot, sweaty work that involves dirt and thorns is not what the modern (urban) man should be doing. He has been “freed” (thanks to our modern food system) from “demeaning” labour like this, so as to free up time for more “honourable” pursuits such as playing the stock market or sitting down in front of a TV. The modern man’s hands are more better adapted to pressing buttons, swiping screens, and pulling the leavers of the Machine than plucking fruit from the tree or grasping a plough, trowel, or scythe (or so he kids himself). Anyway, if he can buy a ready-made blackberry crumble or jar of blackberry jam at the supermarket that suits him just fine. Convenience is all he desires.

But as I stood there in the cemetery, I mused that this this tragic state of affairs is not the only reason why seemingly few people engage in this late summer tradition of reaping abundance. Perhaps there is another reason beyond our lust for convenience that explains why our countryside is no longer full of families out harvesting in the groves; a reason that may affect even those of us who desire to go picking out in the fields. What if, I pondered, the reason is that we do not know what to do (or how to manage) when faced with abundance?¹

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The blackberries that laden a single bush are above and beyond what most of us can use well. Even more so are the apples that a single old tree contains — the abundance of windfall lying under the trees in our gardens is testament to this. There is simply so much food in front of us, an immensity far exceeding what we need. We are not used to being confronted with a glut like this. The punnet of berries sold in the supermarket is perfectly proportioned to not overwhelm us, it is a manageable portion perfect for some limited home baking or snacking. Compare this to the basket or bucket full to the brim that can be brought home after an afternoon’s picking and we are overwhelmed, at loss as to what to do. Many of us have lost the skills and practices that our grandparents were well acquainted with: canning, preserving, jam making, and storing — the art of prolonging an abundance, of making summer last well into winter. Without these skills and know-how, many of the precious fruits we bring home will go to waste. This seems almost immoral. To avoid this sorry outcome, we leave the glut on the trees and bushes — at least then the waste is not our problem. Thus, an abundance of readily available and delicious food rots and withers on the bushes and trees.

This might seem a strange topic to opine about — surely there are more pressing issues to discuss in the world than a “few” blackberries going to waste. This is, to an extent, true. However, I believe the arts and skills of using and preserving nature’s bounty are too precious to lose in this age of technical dominance. These are skills that instil sustainable habits and practices, increase our exposure and interaction with nature, and protect rich traditions and heritage which can be passed on to future generations. Furthermore, when we consider the cumulative tonnes of fruit and food that go to waste each year under our trees or on our bushes, it could almost qualify as an issue of national food security! These reasons alone should underscore the importance of foraging and preserving — loosing them is far from a trivial matter for society. What I have discovered, though, as I have pondered this topic is that there are other lessons that can be learnt from the way we misuse and waste abundances. Indeed, the misuse and neglect of abundance could be described as one of the defining features of the modern age, and a problem that urgently needs resolving.

The age of extravagance

One way our inability to navigate and effectively use abundance manifests itself is when we enter the supermarket (the supposed domain of convenience and ease). The multitude of choice on display: thousands of brands, hundreds of sauces, endless varieties of breakfast cereal all boxed in colourful packaging screaming “choose me!” can make supermarkets highly disorienting places. Faced with the gross abundance that the marketers claim is essential for happiness and freedom, we can easily become disoriented, stressed and mentally exhausted — what is called the ‘Paradox of choice’². A similar dynamic occurs on the internet. When we turn on our screens we are immediately confronted with a tidal wave of information to digest, endless content to mindlessly scroll through, breaking news that changes by the minute, and endless new articles to read (the seeming hypocrisy of writing this is not lost on me) each claiming to contain new “must read” insights. Our brains rapidly become full; our ability to filter and prioritise what we read into useful and worthless is overworked³; and when we enter back into the physical world we are stressed, hyper-active, and distracted. The modern world’s abundance has worn us out. We do to know how to steward it well, let alone forge a sane path through it.

But is this really “abundance” we are confronted with? Perhaps are we confronted with something else? Abundance is meant to satisfy us, is meant for our good and well being, and is a richly provided gift. Clearly our societal state of mind showcases we are not being satisfied or improved by the “abundances” we are confronted with. No, it is clear that what we are confronted with is not abundance, but extravagance and there is a vital distinction between the two terms.⁴

Extravagance is the state of affairs when we are confronted with or use a resource that far exceeds what we need or can use well. It is excessive and harmful (physically, mentally, environmentally, and morally) and when we consider our modern world, we have to admit that extravagance is all around us. The most obvious and perhaps most damaging extravagance is our use of fossil fuels. For centuries we have burnt these fuels seemingly without limit to power the myriad extravagances of our modern technological economies and to achieve that desire of all politicians: limitless economic growth. This has allowed for the extravagant production and consumption of cheap and artificial foods, disposable goods, luxury trivialities, fast fashion, and rock bottom air fares, all to keep the masses contentedly discontent⁵, and the graph of GDP growth ever trending upwards. As Wendell Berry states:

The idea of “limitless economic growth is based on the obsessive and fearful conviction that more is always needed. The growth is maintained by the consumers’ panic-stricken suspicion, since they always want more, that they will never have enough.⁶

We consume extravagantly without end — yet are always left grasping for more. Such is the pitiful state of modern man. And all the while, that which as been abundantly provided for us, that which is renewable, sustainable, and of superior quality — the wild foods, the well-made durable goods, and the renewable sources of energy — are left underutilised, ignored, and wasted. This is a gross tragedy, for as Berry again states in the same essay, “abundance, given moderation and responsible use, is limitless” — limitless in the most sustainable and satisfying manner.

It is vital, then, that we learn to distinguish between abundance and extravagance: to learn when enough truly is enough and thus not be tempted by siren calls of extravagance. It is a fine line, though, between the two. Returning to the blackberry patch demonstrates this. If we harvest all the berries, leaving nothing for others or nature, we have extravagantly and excessively harvested the abundance, failing in our convivial duties to our neighbours and jeopardising the circle of life; a cycle that should provide for next year’s bounty and propagate new blackberry bushes for future generations of grandmothers and their grandchildren to enjoy.

In this age of extravagance, let us be satisfied instead with abundance.

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1. A caveat. There is an additional reason that needs mentioning. Hannah Anderson righty points out that many of those on or below the poverty line can no longer afford to practice the homesteading crafts which once would have been staple means of their livelihoods. Single mums working two jobs to pay the bills cannot afford to spend an hour out picking blackberries and another two hours processing them or even afford the energy and utensils needed. For these people, sharing our abundance with them is one way for them to participate in the abundance nature provides. See for more: https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2014/october-web-only/when-rural-traditions-get-hipster-cred.html

2. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Paradox_of_Choice

3. Stephanie Bennett, Endangered Habit, The Plough. “Yet, especially since the widespread adoption of social media, the human brain’s remarkable filtering ability is showing signs of being overtaxed”https://www.plough.com/en/topics/life/technology/endangered-habitat

4. Wendell Berry, The Reactor and the Garden.

5. Our contentment from acquiring new things in the consumptive age lasts for only a fraction before we are wanting more. We seem to be content with this state of affairs, of always oscillating between contentment and covetousness, and this is how the marketers and producers design for it to be.

6. Wendell Berry, The Reactor and the Garden.