The Help Yourself Box

While walking the dog one night after dark a few weeks ago, I passed a house in the neighborhood with a cardboard box balanced precariously on a stone fence. The lid of the box was propped open and someone had written on it (in magic marker) "Help yourself."

Pete (the dog) and I stopped, mid-stride, to peek inside. The box was filled (almost to overflowing) with cherry tomatoes, yellow squash and zucchini. "Hmmm," I thought, "that's nice." I stuck one small zucchini in my pocket and we continued our walk.

The next night I noticed the box again. The tomatoes had been depleted, but there was an abundance of squash. After our walk, I went back (by myself) to get a few squash--thinking I'd slice them and dry them in my food dehydrator (for winter). By the time I arrived, I noticed much of the produce was gone. I noticed a man and his dog scurrying away from me quickly into the dark night. I smiled to myself. Apparently someone else had discovered this hidden bounty!

This has become a routine. Every night as I approach the house during our walks, I look for the box. I don't always take something from it--but the idea that it's there brings me comfort. Maybe it's the novelty of stumbling upon the unexpected generosity. Maybe it's the fact that it's kind of like a game--the owner puts out the produce and we slink up under the cover of darkness and take a little. To play fairly, you have to follow one unspoken rule: take only what you need. Wouldn't it be great if life worked like that? If we could just step outside our fear of never having enough and just embrace the gift?

Tonight, I noticed it's getting cooler. You can smell autumn approaching. The "help yourself" box isn't as bountiful anymore. Soon the harvest will be gone and so will the box. I'm going to miss it. Isn't it funny how quickly we can take something good for granted?