The word “gnarly” has undergone a renaissance of sorts in recent decades from a rather uncomplimentary adjective to something celebrating a unique accomplishment or particular look that is in vogue in the moment. What escapes attention from time-to-time is the beauty that often accompanies like descriptions.

The fall vegetable treasure hunt for many gardeners includes discovering decorative gourds, desired for their embellishments, that qualify as both gnarly and amazing in design. Their fluting and ridges make for some tough competition that is not easily outdone by the fall circus colors and paint schemes of the gourds themselves. Gnarly is all inclusive in this instance, for it is part of the character and essence of the gourds that we have learned to anticipate and know.

Why is it so fun to explore beneath the leaves and vines of a mature garden in hopes of spying a shape or color that confirms something fun has been found? What makes the gourds special is that they are special in themselves, not at all uniform and the same as the vine or raised bed planter next door, nor do varieties suggest that if you have seen one then you have seen them all. No thanks, I will stick to the gnarly ones that enjoy making a statement or that break the rules when it comes to function and form.

How does one claim relationship when meeting up with something that is so different? Randy Woodley in “Becoming Rooted” (Broadleaf Books, 2022) suggests deeper relationships even in the small act of eating. “With my first bite of food [in the day] I think about what I am eating. I understand the sacrifice made by the plant or the animal to give me life. My life is connected to their death … There is a sacred relationship between myself and the food that I eat … Who grew it? Who picked it? Who processed it? What land was used to grow it? What was the cost to the plants and animals who used to inhabit the land? Without ever knowing them, I understand that there is a direct relationship with every aspect of how my food came to be.”

Suddenly, gnarly becomes less unique and more inclusive as it relates to food. With knowledge and time, usage and meaning change, opening the doors to ever more revealing understandings. It is no secret that scripture writings, in particular the parables of Jesus, are filled with agricultural reference, for people’s existence was unquestionably tied to the land, each meal a reminder of divine providence.

Awareness of that divine providence is key to appreciating the community that enables it. Are we willing to embark on a treasure hunt that reveals doors lying beneath the next leaf or vine? Will we celebrate the unique character of what we discover only to set it aside in hopes of something better? Could we even describe what “something better” is? What gnarly understanding awaits, and to which generation will it belong?

Hopefully we will discover that the most worthwhile place to grow spiritually will be in community gardens of ideas and amazing possibilities, ones filled with deep awareness liberally fertilized with laughter, love and a few gnarly gourds.