A Little Laughter Among the Tubers
- Debra Flaming
- Nov 4
- 2 min read
Tuesday, November 4 — Today marked another big step toward the finish line of our 2025 dahlia harvest. Dion spent the morning finishing the very last round of washing—those final clumps from yesterday’s dig. It felt like closing the chapter on a long and beautiful season.
Inside the shed, the rest of us kept the rhythm going—cutting, inspecting, labeling, and storing. But as any farmer knows, when fatigue sets in, so does a certain kind of humor. Before long, a bit of silliness bloomed right alongside the work.
We kicked off the morning with “dahlia flatbread” baked by one of our teenage helpers—a creative experiment that had us all laughing before the first tuber was even cut. Then, the boys decided to get artistic, sculpting funny little people out of discarded tubers. The result? A lumpy, knobby masterpiece that had us in stitches.
Even though we’re tired, laughter has become our fuel. We’ve got about 50 crates left to process—if all goes well, we’ll finish by Thursday afternoon. My part—inspecting, cleaning, labeling, and storing—will probably stretch into Saturday, but the end is in sight. And after so many long days, joy and gratitude feel like the best harvest of all.
Faith Reflection: Finding Joy in the Middle
As I watched everyone laugh today, I was reminded that joy isn’t something we find at the finish line—it’s something God plants along the way. In the middle of muddy boots, tired hands, and long hours, He gives us laughter to lift our spirits and remind us that His presence is woven into every moment.
Even in the midst of work that feels endless, there’s beauty in the simple joy of being together—each of us playing our small part in something bigger. It’s a gentle reminder that while the harvest is important, so is the heart behind it.
“A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” — Proverbs 17:22
Today, we’re grateful for laughter—the kind that keeps us going when the days grow long and the fields grow quiet.
Sincerely,
Debra Flaming
