Speaker 1: Hello and welcome. I'm so glad you're here tonight. Before
Speaker 1: we begin, If these stories bring you peace, I'd be
Speaker 1: grateful if you'd take a moment to like this video
Speaker 1: and subscribe to the channel. It helps others find their
Speaker 1: way here too. But for now, let everything else fade away.
Speaker 1: Tonight we're going somewhere different. Not a workshop, not a kitchen,
Speaker 1: not a studio. Tonight, We're going outside to a lavender
Speaker 1: farm in the last golden hours of a summer evening,
Speaker 1: when the air is warm and the light is soft,
Speaker 1: and the lavender is ready to harvest. You're the lavender farmer,
Speaker 1: and this is the moment you've waited all year. Four.
Speaker 1: Let's prepare your body for rest. Find your most comfortable position,
Speaker 1: adjust anything you need. You're safe here, You're exactly where
Speaker 1: you need to be. Take a gentle breath in through
Speaker 1: your nose, hold it softly, and release it slowly through
Speaker 1: your mouth. Good again, Breathe in slowly and deeply, hold
Speaker 1: for a moment, and let it go, releasing any tension
Speaker 1: from your day. Your shoulders drop away from your ears,
Speaker 1: your jaw relaxes, teeth slightly apart, Your tongue rests softly
Speaker 1: in your mouth. Your eyes are gently closed. There's nothing
Speaker 1: you need to see right now, just my voice, just
Speaker 1: the story, just the peace. Feel your body becoming heavy,
Speaker 1: sinking into comfort, supported and safe. There's no hurry here,
Speaker 1: no rushing, just the slow, gentle work of harvest, just
Speaker 1: the cutting and gathering and bundling of lavender, just the
Speaker 1: ancient rhythm of bringing in what the earth has grown.
Speaker 1: And now, when you're ready, come with me. We're going
Speaker 1: to the lavender farm. It's early evening, the hottest part
Speaker 1: of the day has passed. The sun is lower, now gentler,
Speaker 1: The light has changed from harsh white to soft gold.
Speaker 1: Everything glowing, everything warm. This is the perfect time, the
Speaker 1: best time for harvesting lavender. You step outside, the air
Speaker 1: meets you immediately, warm, dry, perfect summer air, the kind
Speaker 1: that feels like a gift, like the earth offering something precious,
Speaker 1: something simple, something good. But before you see the lavender,
Speaker 1: you smell it. The scent arrives first, always arrives first.
Speaker 1: It comes on the breeze, gentle at first, just a hint,
Speaker 1: just a suggestion, lavender, that unmistakable scent, that particular sweetness.
Speaker 1: Then more as you walk toward the fields. The scent builds, grows, deepens,
Speaker 1: more present, more real, more overwhelming. Lavender, pure lavender, The
Speaker 1: scent of the flowers, the scent of the oil in
Speaker 1: the tiny purple buds, released by the warmth of the day,
Speaker 1: by the heat of the sun, by the pressure of
Speaker 1: the air moving through the rose and rows of plants.
Speaker 1: Its floral, obviously, but not just floral, not like roses
Speaker 1: or jasmine. Different, cleaner, cooler, somehow, despite the warmth, with
Speaker 1: something green underneath, something herbal, something alive. The scent of
Speaker 1: the plant itself, not just the flowers, but the stems,
Speaker 1: the leaves, the whole living thing, and something else, something
Speaker 1: almost medicinal, but not harsh, not clinical, just present, just
Speaker 1: part of the complexity the lavender's particular character, its ancient
Speaker 1: medicinal associations, it's long history of healing. You can almost
Speaker 1: smell the history in it, thousands of years of lavender,
Speaker 1: of people growing it, harvesting it, using it, loving it.
Speaker 1: You walk along the path, gravel crunching softly under your feet.
Speaker 1: The path runs along the edge of the field, before
Speaker 1: you enter the rose, before you begin the work. You
Speaker 1: want to see it first, just for a moment, just
Speaker 1: to take it in. And then you do. You see
Speaker 1: the field purple. That's the first impression. Pure purple, more
Speaker 1: purple than seems possible, more purple than a sky has
Speaker 1: ever been, a sea of purple stretching before you, row
Speaker 1: after row after row, plants lined up, organized but not rigid,
Speaker 1: not harsh. The rows are soft, the plants full, round,
Speaker 1: generous with their blooms. The rows run east to west,
Speaker 1: long straight rows from where you stand to the far hedge,
Speaker 1: maybe fifty meters maybe more, and side by side, many rows,
Speaker 1: more than you can count without effort. The field is large,
Speaker 1: a real lavender farm, a serious farm, Rows and rows
Speaker 1: and rows of purple. Each plant maybe two feet tall,
Speaker 1: maybe three, round bushes of gray green leaves, and rising
Speaker 1: from each bush, dozens of flower spikes, long thin spikes,
Speaker 1: each one covered in tiny purple flowers. Hundreds of flowers
Speaker 1: on each spike, hundreds of spikes on each plant, hundreds
Speaker 1: of plants in each other row. The mathematics of abundance,
Speaker 1: the mathematics of summer's generosity. The purple is not one shade.
Speaker 1: This surprises you every year, every harvest. You expect purple,
Speaker 1: and you get purples. Deep violet at the center of
Speaker 1: each flower cluster, lighter lavender at the edges, almost blue
Speaker 1: in the shadow of the row, almost pink in the
Speaker 1: direct golden light, the color shifting, changing, living as the
Speaker 1: light moves across the field, and the evening light makes
Speaker 1: everything more beautiful. The low sun hitting the flower heads
Speaker 1: from the side, creating dimension, creating shadow, each spike casting
Speaker 1: a thin shadow on its neighbors. The field textured, three dimensional,
Speaker 1: not flat, not a carpet, but a living, dimensional, breathing
Speaker 1: landscape of purple. The green underneath the gray green of
Speaker 1: lavender leaves, soft green, silvery green, not the bright green
Speaker 1: of spring, but the mature green of summer, the green
Speaker 1: of plants that have been working all season, that have
Speaker 1: stored sun and rain, that have prepared, that are ready,
Speaker 1: that have done their job, now ready to give their gift.
Speaker 1: The leaves are narrow, long and narrow. Each leaf may
Speaker 1: be the length of your little finger. They grow in
Speaker 1: opposite pairs along the stems, orderly structured, the leaves of
Speaker 1: a plant that knows what it's doing, that is always known,
Speaker 1: that was designed for this, for growing in dry soil,
Speaker 1: in full sun, in the heat of summer, The gray
Speaker 1: green color is partly the plant's protection, the tiny hairs
Speaker 1: on each leaf reflecting sunlight, keeping moisture, in surviving heat,
Speaker 1: thriving in conditions that would wilt other plants, and everywhere bees,
Speaker 1: of course, bees. Lavender and bees are inseparable. Where lavender blooms,
Speaker 1: bees come always, without fail, without exception. The field hums
Speaker 1: with them, a low, constant, beautiful hum, the sound of
Speaker 1: thousands of bees working, landing on flowers, gathering nectar, moving
Speaker 1: on the air, vibrating with their purpose. The sound is calming,
Speaker 1: profoundly calming. The bees are not aggressive here, not defensive.
Speaker 1: They're focused entirely on the flowers, on the nectar, on
Speaker 1: their work. You're not a threat, not relevant. They don't
Speaker 1: notice you, don't care about you. Just work, just gather,
Speaker 1: just serve their hive. The sound of absolute purpose, of
Speaker 1: complete focus, of life, doing exactly what it's meant to do.
Speaker 1: You think of your beekeeper, of the wax that comes
Speaker 1: from bees like these, these bees feeding on these flowers,
Speaker 1: making honey that tastes of lavender, making wax that carries
Speaker 1: the scent. Everything connected, everything in relationship, everything part of
Speaker 1: the same story. Bees and lavender lavender and bees, inseparable,
Speaker 1: ancient partners. You stand at the edge of the field
Speaker 1: for a moment, just breathing, just being just present with
Speaker 1: this beauty, with this abundance, with this gift of purple
Speaker 1: and scent and sound and light. You've been waiting for
Speaker 1: this all year, through the long winter, when the plants
Speaker 1: were pruned back, cut back, hard, bare and gray and
Speaker 1: seemingly lifeless, just woody stems, just the suggestion of the plant.
Speaker 1: Hard to believe then, that this abundance was coming, but
Speaker 1: you believed because you've seen it before many times, the
Speaker 1: same cycle, the same miracle every year through spring, when
Speaker 1: the first green appeared, the tiniest green shoots just at
Speaker 1: the base of each plant, just beginning, just the promise.
Speaker 1: You watched them, checked every few days, waiting for that
Speaker 1: first green, that first sign of life. Returning. When it came, relief, joy,
Speaker 1: the cycle continuing as it should. Then, the growth spring
Speaker 1: into early summer, the plants filling out, the green increasing,
Speaker 1: the bushes rounding taking shape, and then the buds forming, small,
Speaker 1: tight green at first, then the first hint of purple,
Speaker 1: the promise of what was coming. You watching and waiting
Speaker 1: the buds swelling, the color deepening. And now now they're here,
Speaker 1: the flowers fully open, the scent at its peak, the
Speaker 1: harvest ready, this moment, this evening, this perfect convergence of
Speaker 1: readiness and light and warmth. You take your tools from
Speaker 1: the basket you carried out, simple tools, essential tools. Your
Speaker 1: harvesting knife, curved blade, sharp, perfect for this work, for
Speaker 1: cutting the lavender stems cleanly, efficiently, respectfully. Your twine, rolls
Speaker 1: of natural twine for bundling, for tying each bundle together,
Speaker 1: simple functional, necessary. This twine has done this work before.
Speaker 1: Many harvests the same twine, the same purpose. Large baskets,
Speaker 1: wicker baskets, worn smooth from use, from years of carrying
Speaker 1: lavender from summers of harvest. They smell of lavender, too,
Speaker 1: have absorbed the scent over years, are permeated with it.
Speaker 1: Even empty, they smell of the harvest of past summers,
Speaker 1: of work completed, of abundance gathered. You put on your gloves,
Speaker 1: soft leather gloves for your hands for protection from the
Speaker 1: repeated cutting from the stems from the hours of work ahead,
Speaker 1: but thin gloves still allowing feel still connected to the plants,
Speaker 1: to the harvest. You take a deep breath, last breath
Speaker 1: before the work begins, one more moment of just being here,
Speaker 1: in this beauty, in this scent, in this golden evening light.
Speaker 1: Then you step into the first row. The lavender is
Speaker 1: immediately on both sides of you, brushing your legs, your arms,
Speaker 1: touching as you pass. As you move through the row,
Speaker 1: the plants reach out, make contact, and every touch releases
Speaker 1: more scent, more oil from the flowers, more of that beautiful,
Speaker 1: overwhelming lavender. Walking through a lavender row is like walking
Speaker 1: through perfume, not artificial perfume, real perfume, living perfume. The
Speaker 1: scent so thick you can almost taste it on your lips,
Speaker 1: on your tongue, entering you with every breath, becoming part
Speaker 1: of you, part of your body, part of this moment.
Speaker 1: You stop at the first plant. This is where you'll begin.
Speaker 1: First plant, first row, first bundle, the beginning of the harvest.
Speaker 1: You look at the plant closely, really look. The flower
Speaker 1: spikes are perfect. This is how you know it's ready.
Speaker 1: The tiny flowers on each spike are fully open, maybe
Speaker 1: two thirds of them open, the rest still in bud.
Speaker 1: This is the ideal moment, peak oil content, peak fragrance,
Speaker 1: peak quality. You reach into the plant, your gloved hand,
Speaker 1: finding stems, groups of stems. You gather a handful, maybe
Speaker 1: twenty stems, maybe thirty, Enough for one bundle, not too many,
Speaker 1: not too few, the right amount. Your hands know the
Speaker 1: right amount, have learned over years, over many harvests. They know.
Speaker 1: You bring the stems together, align them, make them parallel,
Speaker 1: even organized. Then you raise your curved knife, position it
Speaker 1: just below the leaves, just above the woody part of
Speaker 1: the stem. This is where you cut, where the stem
Speaker 1: is still green, still flexible, still alive. You draw a
Speaker 1: blade across one clean motion, smooth, decisive. The stems separate,
Speaker 1: The bundle comes free. The lavender is cut, harvested, released
Speaker 1: from the plant. Ready. The cut is clean, instant, the
Speaker 1: knife sharp, the motion practiced. The plants yield cleanly, without resistance,
Speaker 1: as if they've been waiting for this, as if they're
Speaker 1: ready to be harvested, ready to move from growing to
Speaker 1: being used, from plant to bundle, from field to purpose.
Speaker 1: You hold the bundle up for just a moment, look
Speaker 1: at it. A handful of purple, twenty or thirty flower spikes,
Speaker 1: all those tiny flowers, all that scent, concentrated in your hand.
Speaker 1: The scent rises from the cut, ends strongest there at
Speaker 1: the fresh cut, the oil released, the fragrance blooming. You
Speaker 1: bring it to your nose, breathe in. Of course you do,
Speaker 1: How could you not. The scent is extraordinary, right there,
Speaker 1: right at the source, pure lavender, undiluted, the real thing,
Speaker 1: nothing added, nothing artificial, just the plant itself, just its gift.
Speaker 1: You lower the bundle, place it in your basket. The
Speaker 1: first bundle, the beginning of the harvest, the first of many.
Speaker 1: You reach into the plant again, another group of stems,
Speaker 1: another handful. Gather a line cut. The motion easy, natural,
Speaker 1: beginning to find its rhythm, the rhythm it will have
Speaker 1: for the next hour, the next few hours, until the
Speaker 1: light fades, until the harvest is done. Gather a line cut.
Speaker 1: Gather a line cut. The second bundle joins the first
Speaker 1: in the basket. The basket holds both, has room for
Speaker 1: many more will fill slowly, bundle by bundle, cut by cut.
Speaker 1: As the light fades and the work continues, you move
Speaker 1: along the row, plant by plant, each one offering its harvest,
Speaker 1: each one yielding to the curved knife, each cut or
Speaker 1: releasing scent, fresh ascent, living scent, the scent of lavender
Speaker 1: at its most intense, at its most real. Gather a
Speaker 1: line cut. Gather a line cut. The rhythm builds, becomes established.
Speaker 1: Your body finds the motion. Your hands work without thinking,
Speaker 1: without instruction. They reach, they gather, they align, the knife cuts,
Speaker 1: the bundle falls into the basket. Everything smooth, everything natural,
Speaker 1: everything part of the rhythm. Gather a line cut. Gather
Speaker 1: a line cut. The scent is everywhere. Now been in
Speaker 1: the field long enough, the scent has saturated everything. Your clothes,
Speaker 1: your gloves, your hair, your skin. You breathe it with
Speaker 1: every breath. Is not just around you, it's inside you,
Speaker 1: part of every breath, part of your body, part of
Speaker 1: this moment. But notice how the scent changes as you work.
Speaker 1: At first, standing at the edge, the scent was general,
Speaker 1: was the whole field, was everything at once beautiful but unfocused,
Speaker 1: like music from a distance, the melody there, but not
Speaker 1: every note. Now, working in the row, the scent is immediate, direct.
Speaker 1: Each time your hands disturb the plants, more oil releases,
Speaker 1: more fragrance, concentrated right here, right now, each cut releasing
Speaker 1: a fresh burst, each brushed stem offering more. The scent
Speaker 1: is not constant but pulsing movement, creating a new moment
Speaker 1: of fragrance, a new release, a new gift. The scent
Speaker 1: of freshly cut lavender. This is different from dried lavender,
Speaker 1: different from lavender essential oil, different from lavender candles or
Speaker 1: lavender soap. This is the living plant, the just cut stem,
Speaker 1: the freshest possible version, the most real, the most pure,
Speaker 1: Green and purple, both in the scent. The stems smell green, herbaceous,
Speaker 1: like cut grass, but more complex, more interesting, more medicinal.
Speaker 1: The flowers smell purple, somehow floral sweet, the combination being
Speaker 1: lavender being the thing itself, being the scent. That is
Speaker 1: only possible when both are present, when the whole plant
Speaker 1: gives its whole self. Your breathing has synchronized with the cutting,
Speaker 1: in as you reach and gather out, as you cut
Speaker 1: in and out, in and out, like the harvest, like
Speaker 1: the rhythm, like the ancient work of bringing in what
Speaker 1: the earth has grown. Your breath and the work become
Speaker 1: one thing, one motion, one rhythm, inseparable. You're not thinking now,
Speaker 1: not really. The mind has quieted, The thoughts have faded.
Speaker 1: There were thoughts at the beginning, at the edge of
Speaker 1: the field, standing and looking, the mind still active, then
Speaker 1: still commenting, still noting, still thinking, but now working in
Speaker 1: the rhythm. The thoughts are gone, have left, have found
Speaker 1: no purchase in the rhythm, no space between the cut
Speaker 1: and the gather, no room for anything but this, just
Speaker 1: the lavender, just the knife, the rhythm, just this. Gather
Speaker 1: a line cut, gather a line cut. You move to
Speaker 1: the next plant, seamlessly, without deciding. Your feet know, your
Speaker 1: body knows. Finish one plant, step to the next. The
Speaker 1: row continues, the harvest continues. One plant becomes two, becomes ten,
Speaker 1: becomes the whole row. Each plant slightly different, you notice,
Speaker 1: even without trying. This one taller, more vigorous, more spikes,
Speaker 1: This one shorter, more compact, fewer spikes, but thicker stems.
Speaker 1: This one at an angle, leaning slightly toward the sun,
Speaker 1: as plants do, as all living things do, reaching toward
Speaker 1: what sustains them, each plant individual, each one having lived
Speaker 1: this season in its particular patch of soil, with its
Speaker 1: particular neighbors, getting its particular hours of sun and drops
Speaker 1: of rain, growing in its particular way. Yet all lavender,
Speaker 1: all purple, all fragrant, all ready the unity within diversity,
Speaker 1: the beauty of it. The basket is getting heavy. This
Speaker 1: is good, This is progress, each bundle adding weight, adding
Speaker 1: to the whole, the harvest accumulating, bundle by bundle, the
Speaker 1: basket filling slowly but surely, inevitably. This is how harvests work,
Speaker 1: not all at once, but gradually, patiently, cut by cut,
Speaker 1: bundle by bundle, row by row, Gather a line, cut,
Speaker 1: gather a line cut. The light continues to change. You
Speaker 1: notice it with part of your mind, the part that
Speaker 1: isn't entirely in the rhythm. The sun lower now, the
Speaker 1: shadows longer, the orange deeper, the field lit from a
Speaker 1: lower angle, making everything glow more, making the purple richer,
Speaker 1: the gold warmer, the whole scene more beautiful, if that's possible.
Speaker 1: If beauty can increase, it seems it can, It seems
Speaker 1: evening does this to beauty, makes it more of itself.
Speaker 1: The bees fewer now as the light fades, returning home,
Speaker 1: their day ending, but not yours. Not yet. You work
Speaker 1: on the rhythm, continuing the harvest, progressing the bundles, accumulating,
Speaker 1: the work, completing itself through you. At the end of
Speaker 1: the first row, you stop, look back at what you've done.
Speaker 1: The plants behind you are harvested, their flowers spike cut.
Speaker 1: They look different now, smaller, the round fullness gone, just
Speaker 1: leaves and stems remaining. They'll recover, We'll grow new flower spikes.
Speaker 1: Next year, we'll bloom again. We'll be ready again. This
Speaker 1: is not the end for them, just a change, a renewal,
Speaker 1: the cycle continuing. You look at your basket, half full,
Speaker 1: maybe maybe more purple bundles. The harvest begun, the work continuing.
Speaker 1: You step into the second row. Begin again, the same rhythm,
Speaker 1: the same motion, the same work. Gather a line cut.
Speaker 1: Gather a line cut. Now you need to bundle properly
Speaker 1: to tie the harvested stems. Bundle needs twine, needs to
Speaker 1: be secured so it can dry properly, so it can
Speaker 1: be hung, so the flowers will keep so the scent
Speaker 1: will remain, so the harvest will be preserved through all
Speaker 1: the months to come, through autumn and winter, until the
Speaker 1: field blooms again. You cut a length of twine from
Speaker 1: your roll, natural jute twine roughen your fingers. The texture familiar,
Speaker 1: the right texture, exactly right for this work. Not too long,
Speaker 1: not too short, just enough to wrap and tie. Your
Speaker 1: hands know the right length, have learned it over many harvests,
Speaker 1: many seasons. The right amount is in your hands, known,
Speaker 1: without measuring. You take a bundle of cut stems, pull
Speaker 1: them together. Feel the stems, each one slightly different diameter,
Speaker 1: slightly different texture. Put together a bundle together, a unit together,
Speaker 1: one thing. You press them together, align them, make them compact,
Speaker 1: make them organized, The flower heads all at the same level,
Speaker 1: the cut ends, all together neat Ready you feel the
Speaker 1: lavender in your hands, even through the gloves, the softness
Speaker 1: of the flower heads, the slight roughness of the stems,
Speaker 1: the oils transferring even through leather. Your gloves carrying the
Speaker 1: scent now will carry it for days, evidence of this work,
Speaker 1: of this evening, of this harvest. You wrap the twine
Speaker 1: around the stems near the cut end, near the bottom
Speaker 1: where they'll be hung from two wraps, three tight wraps,
Speaker 1: your hands working efficiently, the twine under your pressing against
Speaker 1: the stems, holding them, gathering them, making them one thing
Speaker 1: instead of many. Then you tie the knot your hands know,
Speaker 1: without thinking, A simple knot, practiced thousands of times, quick, firm, secure.
Speaker 1: You've tied this knot in every harvest every year, the
Speaker 1: same knot the same motion. Your hand's doing it before
Speaker 1: your mind decides. The knowledge in the hands, the skill
Speaker 1: in the body, not in the thinking, in the doing.
Speaker 1: The bundle is tied complete, a thing finished ready. You
Speaker 1: hold it up for a moment. Look at it. A
Speaker 1: proper bundle, the kind you see in shops, in markets,
Speaker 1: hanging in windows and doorways, in all the places where
Speaker 1: dry lavender brings its beauty and scent. You made this, yes,
Speaker 1: your hands made this from the living plant, in one motion,
Speaker 1: from growing to harvested to bundled. The transformation complete, tie rap,
Speaker 1: not set aside, tie rap not set aside. The tide
Speaker 1: bundles accumulate in their basket, growing in number five, ten, fifteen,
Speaker 1: each one identical in structure, each one unique in its
Speaker 1: particular stems and flowers, each one a small, perfect thing.
Speaker 1: Gather a line cut, gather a line cut, tie rap
Speaker 1: not tie rap not. The two rhythms become one, become one,
Speaker 1: extended rhythm become one meditation, cutting and tying, harvesting and securing,
Speaker 1: taking and preserving, the whole cycle happening in your hands,
Speaker 1: in this field, in this evening, in this light. The
Speaker 1: light is changing now you notice, without stopping, the sun lower,
Speaker 1: the light warmer, more orange, now less gold, the shadows longer,
Speaker 1: stretching across the rose, the lavender casting shadows on itself,
Speaker 1: the purple darker in shadow, richer, more intense, the whole
Speaker 1: field transforming in the evening light, becoming more beautiful as
Speaker 1: the day ends, as if saving its best for last.
Speaker 1: The bees are fewer now, the evening cooling, the bees
Speaker 1: returning to their hives, their work done for to day. Tomorrow.
Speaker 1: They'll be back at first light when the sun warms
Speaker 1: the flowers again, But for now they're going home, the
Speaker 1: hum quieting, becoming softer, fewer voices, fewer wings, the field
Speaker 1: growing quieter, more peaceful, and still you work. Gather a
Speaker 1: line cut tie rap, not gather a line cut tie rap.
Speaker 1: Not Your hands know what to do. Your body knows
Speaker 1: the rhythm. Your mind has emptied, has quieted, has released
Speaker 1: everything that isn't this, everything that isn't the harvest, everything
Speaker 1: that isn't purple and scent and rhythm and fading golden light,
Speaker 1: all of it gone released, not forced away, just gone
Speaker 1: because there's no room, because the work fills everything, Because
Speaker 1: the present moment is complete. This is the gift of
Speaker 1: harvest work, this clearing, this emptying, this return to simplicity,
Speaker 1: to the body, to the hands, to the ancient human
Speaker 1: work of gathering what the earth has grown. This is
Speaker 1: what we were made for, this rhythm, this work, this
Speaker 1: relationship with the land, with the seasons, with the plants
Speaker 1: that grow and bloom, and weight to be harvested. The
Speaker 1: baskets are full, now, both of them, the cut basket,
Speaker 1: the tide basket, both full, piled with purple. The smell
Speaker 1: from the baskets extraordinary, concentrated, the harvest of ours, the
Speaker 1: work of hands, the gift of summer. You lift the
Speaker 1: first basket, heavy with lavender, satisfying weight, the weight of
Speaker 1: work completed, of summer, gathered, of abundance received. You carry
Speaker 1: it carefully, the bundle shifting slightly, settling purple against the wicker,
Speaker 1: beautiful even in the basket, even harvested, even separated from
Speaker 1: their roots. The barn is old stone walls, a wooden roof,
Speaker 1: built generations ago for this purpose, for this exact work,
Speaker 1: for drying, for storing, for processing, the harvest of this farm,
Speaker 1: the generations that came before you, that harvested this same
Speaker 1: field that hung lavender from these same rods. You're part
Speaker 1: of their story, their continuation, their legacy, carried forward inside
Speaker 1: the barn, the smell is extraordinary. Every previous harvest is here,
Speaker 1: absorbed into the stone, into the wood, into the air itself.
Speaker 1: Years of lavender, decades of harvest. The barn has become lavender,
Speaker 1: has been transformed by years of this work, into something infused,
Speaker 1: something particular, something that exists nowhere else. Cool and dim
Speaker 1: and fragrant, the barn a refuge from the warmth of
Speaker 1: the field, a different world just steps away. Inside and outside,
Speaker 1: warm and cool, bright and dim. The contrast beautiful, the
Speaker 1: transition peaceful. You hang the bundles one by one, each
Speaker 1: one tied to the wooden rod, the same rods that
Speaker 1: have held many harvests, that are polished by the string
Speaker 1: of many ties that have supported this work through many seasons.
Speaker 1: The rod runs the width of the barn, a good length.
Speaker 1: Many bundles will hang here, are already here from previous days,
Speaker 1: earlier rows, already harvested. You add yours, bundle by bundle.
Speaker 1: Flower heads down. This is how it must be, upside down,
Speaker 1: so the oils flow into the flowers so the flowers
Speaker 1: keep their color, so the stems dry, straight and true.
Speaker 1: Your hands find the rhythm here too, Lift tie, hang, lift, tie, hang.
Speaker 1: The row of new bundles grows, purple, hanging in the dimness,
Speaker 1: the last of the evening light coming through the barn door,
Speaker 1: illuminating the hanging lavender, making it glow, making it beautiful
Speaker 1: in this different way, not the bright purple of the
Speaker 1: field in sunlight, but the rich, deep purple of lavender
Speaker 1: in shadow in the old barn in the evening, beautiful, differently, beautifully, differently.
Speaker 1: Lift tie, hang, lift, tie, hang, Row after row of
Speaker 1: bundles filling the barn, purple, hanging like a garden turned
Speaker 1: upside down, like summer preserved, like beauty captured before the
Speaker 1: season ends. The smell intensifying as the barn fills. More lavender,
Speaker 1: more scent, more richness, more of this extraordinary fragrance. The
Speaker 1: last bundle hung, the baskets empty, the work complete. You
Speaker 1: step back, Look at what you've done, All those bundles,
Speaker 1: all that purple hanging in rows, A whole barn full
Speaker 1: of harvest, a whole season's work, a summer's abundance gathered, secured, preserved,
Speaker 1: this will dry over weeks, will become the dried lavender
Speaker 1: that goes to markets, that fills sachets, that scents closets,
Speaker 1: that finds its way into candles, into soaps, into all
Speaker 1: the places where this particular piece is needed, where this
Speaker 1: particular scent brings calm. You stand in the barn doorway,
Speaker 1: looking out at the field in the last light, the
Speaker 1: harvested rose visible from here, the cut plants still standing,
Speaker 1: still green, still part of this place, just changed, just lighter,
Speaker 1: just released of their flowers. They'll rest now through autumn,
Speaker 1: through winter, and then again in spring. The new growth
Speaker 1: will come, the new buds, the new flowers, the new purple,
Speaker 1: the cycle beginning again as it always has, as it
Speaker 1: always will. The sky is deepening now, the blue going darker, richer,
Speaker 1: the first stars appearing faint at first, just visible, then
Speaker 1: brighter as your eyes adjust, as the sky darkens further,
Speaker 1: The evening star first, always first, then others, appearing one
Speaker 1: by one, as if the sky is lighting its own candles,
Speaker 1: one by one, creating its own light. The field is
Speaker 1: quiet now, the bees gone, the light fading, just the plants,
Speaker 1: just the rose, just the purple becoming darker, As the
Speaker 1: light fades, the scent still there, always, still there. The
Speaker 1: scent of lavender doesn't need sunlight, doesn't need warmth to exist.
Speaker 1: It just is just present, just in the air. Always.
Speaker 1: You're tired, good tired, the best tired, the tired of
Speaker 1: physical work completed, of something real, accomplished, of the body
Speaker 1: used fully, purposefully. Well. Your arms feel it, your shoulders,
Speaker 1: your back from bending and straightening, your legs from walking
Speaker 1: the rose. All of you used, all of you engaged,
Speaker 1: all of you part of the harvest. You remove your gloves.
Speaker 1: Your hands emerge warm, the skin slightly stained with plant oils,
Speaker 1: the lavender having found its way through the leather. Your
Speaker 1: hands smell of it, of course they do, will smell
Speaker 1: of it for days. Every time you raise your hands,
Speaker 1: every time you catch the scent, a memory of this evening,
Speaker 1: of this harvest, of this purple abundance. You walk back
Speaker 1: through the field one more time, one last time through
Speaker 1: the rose, one last contact with the plants, one last
Speaker 1: encounter with the scent. Walking in the dusk, now the
Speaker 1: light almost gone, the purple of the lavender merging with
Speaker 1: the purple of the sky. Everything purple, everything, twilight, everything
Speaker 1: between day and night, between work and rest. Your hands
Speaker 1: brush the plants as you pass, the unharvested, rouse, the
Speaker 1: ones whose turn hasn't come yet. They reach back towards you,
Speaker 1: brush your fingers, release their scent, as if saying come back,
Speaker 1: as if sang. Will be here. The lavender always here,
Speaker 1: always purple, always fragrant, always waiting. By the time you
Speaker 1: reach the gate, you are entirely lavender. The scent is you.
Speaker 1: You are the scent. There is no separation between you
Speaker 1: and the fragrance of this place, this evening, this harvest.
Speaker 1: You breathe and you smell lavender. You move, and you
Speaker 1: release lavender, the boundary dissolved by hours of work, by immersion,
Speaker 1: by presence. The sky is deepening now, the blue going darker,
Speaker 1: the first stars appearing, faint at first, then brighter, the
Speaker 1: evening becoming night, the day ending, the harvest complete. You're tired,
Speaker 1: good tired, the best tired, the tired of physical work completed,
Speaker 1: of something real, accomplished, of the body used fully, purposefully well.
Speaker 1: You walk back through the field one more time, the
Speaker 1: path through the harvest. It rose, your hands brushing the
Speaker 1: remaining leaves, the scent releasing one more time, one final
Speaker 1: time for tonight. By the time you reach the gate,
Speaker 1: you are entirely lavender. The scent is you, You are
Speaker 1: the scent. There is no separation between you and the
Speaker 1: fragrance of this place, this evening, this harvest. You walk
Speaker 1: home slowly through the warm evening, the last warmth of
Speaker 1: the day, the first coolness of night beginning, your body
Speaker 1: pleasantly tired, your mind wonderfully empty. Your sens is full,
Speaker 1: your heart content. When you reach home, you enter your
Speaker 1: own space, familiar, safe, yours. You wash your hands, the
Speaker 1: water cool, the gloves off your hands, smell of lavender,
Speaker 1: even through the gloves, will smell of it for days,
Speaker 1: for as long as you need the reminder, the connection,
Speaker 1: the memory of this evening, of this harvest, of this work.
Speaker 1: You slip into bed, cool sheets, soft blanket, the weight,
Speaker 1: settling comfort, safety, home. You can smell the lavender still
Speaker 1: on your skin and your hair, and your clothes folded nearby.
Speaker 1: The scent comes with you everywhere through the evening, into bed,
Speaker 1: into sleep. Your breathing is slow, deep, the scent with
Speaker 1: every breath lavender, the scent of calm, of sleep, of peace.
Speaker 1: Your body knows this scent responds to it, relaxes into it.
Speaker 1: Let's go because of it. Your body is heavy, beautifully heavy,
Speaker 1: the pleasant tiredness of harvest, work of hands that worked,
Speaker 1: of legs that walked, of a back that bent and straightened,
Speaker 1: of a whole body used in service of something good,
Speaker 1: something real, something worth doing. Your mind is empty, clear, calm.
Speaker 1: The harvest has done its work on you, as it
Speaker 1: always does, as physical work always does. Cleared, the mind settled,
Speaker 1: the spirit returned you to your body, to the present,
Speaker 1: to this moment, this breath, this scent. Tomorrow, the bundles
Speaker 1: will be hanging in the barn, the lavender drying, the
Speaker 1: scent continuing, the work of summer being preserved, being kept
Speaker 1: through the seasons, being transformed into sachets and oils, and
Speaker 1: the dried bundles that will scent drawers and rooms and
Speaker 1: all the quiet corners of homes through autumn and winter.
Speaker 1: But that's tomorrow, that's later, that's the next part of
Speaker 1: the story. Tonight, just this, just the harvest done, just
Speaker 1: the body tired, just the mind quiet, just the scent
Speaker 1: of lavender. Just sleep. Sleep comes like lavender oil, releasing gradually, gently,
Speaker 1: naturally from the warmth of the body, from the weight
Speaker 1: of the evening, from the work of the day. Slow
Speaker 1: and sweet and inevitable. You are the lavender farmer and tonight.
Speaker 1: You have brought in the harvest, have honored the work
Speaker 1: of the earth, have gathered what summer grew, have preserved
Speaker 1: what will bring peace and beauty to all the seasons
Speaker 1: to come. The bundles hang in the barn, purple in
Speaker 1: the darkness, still fragrant, still beautiful, still serving their purpose.
Speaker 1: And you sleep, surrounded by the scent of lavender, grateful
Speaker 1: for purple feel and golden light and the ancient, satisfying
Speaker 1: work of harvest. Sleep well, Sleep deeply, Sleep peacefully. May
Speaker 1: your dreams be purple, May your rest be deep. May
Speaker 1: the scent of lavender carry you gently through the night.
Speaker 1: Good night, m.
Speaker 2: M.
Speaker 3: The Indians.
Speaker 2: As the.
Speaker 4: Danaans Us Usa da england.
Speaker 2: Us us, or.
Speaker 3: The niani Us