Trade

I stand at the kitchen sink preparing fruit to go into my fruit bowl. It is the middle of May. I think of how, when I was a child, we did not have fresh fruit this time of year. I remember the baskets of apples stored in the cold room, and how by March they would be soft, withered, and waxy. By May, even those were merely a memory.

The little labels stuck to each piece of fruit in my hands tell a story and explain how we now can have such bounty totally out of season; oranges from California, apples from Chile, Pears from Argentina, bananas from Honduras, and a lovely mango from Mexico. Each fruit grew in a different country, yet each piece was warmed by the same sun that warms me. I picture hands, browned by that sun, reaching gently to pick this mango. Who is that person who blessed me with this produce? Did she or he stop to wonder where it was going and who might eat this fruit? Did s/he say a prayer of blessing for the eventual consumer, as I do for now for him or her?

Even though we have never met, the lives of people around the world are blessed by an interaction of trade. The people on the other end of that trade are in a distant land, and yet, we know them! We can picture their faces! We can see their children, and see their smiles. We can even know something of their hopes and dreams.

My mind turns to other lands where we, yes we Canadians, trade bullets instead of produce. I picture the hands that hold the rifles, and sun burnt faces behind those guns. I see their eyes, and the worry for their children that is visible there. I say a prayer for them too.

May the day soon come when we trade only in the produce of our lands, and not trade in death any more.

Posted by Carman