Grapes from South America

He said: “As we sit down at the table, We have grapes from South America, And celery and carrots and cucumbers from some somewhere, And chicken that hatched from an egg that someone had to make sure hatched and grew to maturity, And potato salad from potatoes that had to be grown and harvested, And biscuits from wheat…” I thought: Grapes from South America? What in the world is he talking about? I thought he was going to say the blessing. He continued, as if reading my mind: “I just think it’s important that we don’t take for granted all of the work that had to occur to get our meal onto the table— All of the people who labored to make this possible— People we will never know and see.” I thought: Oh. Yes. Labor Day. It’s Labor Day Weekend. We should be grateful. He prayed: “Dear God, Thank you for this food. Amen.” I haven’t looked at anything since that prayer And not thought of all of the hands, Mostly unknown, Forever anonymous, That went into growing, harvesting, designing, making, and/or producing it. May we be a grateful people today, For all things great and small, For the hands and lives that make our lives possible, For the labors that keep the world turning, Today and every day. Amen.