One of the many heartbreaking sights over the past few weeks, as we have witnessed the devastation caused by wildfires across the globe, has been the destruction of crops. A year of a farmer’s hard work can be destroyed within moments. Food to nourish both humans and animals — gone.
One haunting image was of a man battling against the odds as flames swept across a field of ripened wheat towards his home. Working as quickly as he could, he cut back the standing grain in a desperate attempt to remove the fire’s fuel. There was something profoundly moving in the sight of one human being standing before the full force of the elements, refusing to give up even when all seemed already lost.
Many of us feel deep sadness at the destruction of ancient landscapes — woodlands, grasslands and habitats that have evolved over centuries. The destruction of fields of grain carries a poignancy too.
A grain field is not simply a crop. It is a living ecosystem where small animals, birds and insects thrive. It reaches the fullness we see at this time of year through the collective work of the farmer, the earth, the soil, microorganisms, insects, sunshine, rain and time.
Each ear of wheat carries many individual grains. And each grain is a storehouse of potential. Given the right combination of earth, water, sunlight and care, it can itself give rise to another plant, another harvest, another cycle of life.
Each grain also carries the potential to nourish and strengthen human and animal life. Such precious nourishment, nurtured over months as humanity and nature worked together in harmony, can be lost in an instant when that harmony is overtaken by the destructive power of fire.
Once, whilst walking through the fields near my home with my lovely Ellie, I remember stopping spellbound as I watched the late summer breeze move through the landscape. A wave passed across the golden wheat, whilst wild grasses beside the hedgerows gently bowed their heads in response.
As I stood there, something happened that I had never noticed before. It was as if the ears of wheat were talking to each other.
Have you ever heard this?
Grains make a sound as they stand in their fullness and ripeness in an open field. They crackle and pop as the sun beats down upon them, as though they are sharing their delight in life with one another as they absorb the warmth of the summer sun following the rain.
These truly are living, vital whole grains.
Traditional societies across the world have long recognised the vitality within grain and honoured it as a life-giving food. Our ancestors relied upon grain to sustain them through the months when fresh foods were scarce, and over time it became associated with gratitude, continuity and the sacred cycle of life.
Many of us have seen corn dollies, perhaps without knowing their origins. In traditional European harvest customs, the final sheaf was sometimes believed to hold the spirit of the grain. It was woven into a corn dolly and kept in the home throughout the winter months before being returned to the earth when spring arrived.
Whether taken literally or symbolically, this tradition expresses a beautiful truth: life is never truly lost. It changes form, moves through cycles, and continues.
Across the world, grain has inspired a similar reverence.
When I lived in Japan, I was encouraged never to leave grains of rice on my plate. Each grain was understood to embody the blessings of nature and the efforts of countless hands. Traditionally, the Emperor offered the first rice of the harvest to the kami, the divine nature spirits of Shinto, before sharing in it himself – acknowledging that nourishment is a gift bestowed upon us.
Here in Britain, our own harvest traditions have carried a similar message. At Lammas, the first grain harvest was celebrated through the making of the first loaf from the new wheat: a simple but profound expression of gratitude for the nourishment gifted through the combined efforts of nature and humanity.
Different cultures, through different expressions, have held the same recognition: grain is not merely food. It is an expression of the interconnected nature of life itself.
Grain is the result of a natural collective — human hands, soil, weather, sunlight and the elements. To contemplate this is to remember that the myriad expressions of life, including our own, are not separate but woven together.
And perhaps this is why the loss of a field of grain can feel so profound. It represents not simply the loss of a crop, but the interruption of an entire chain of life and nourishment.
Ayurveda, with its traditional Vedic heritage, also invites us to honour grain: to include grains in our diet, to eat them, for the most part, in their whole form, and to prepare them with awareness and reverence.
Grain teaches us patience.
A seed is placed into the darkness of the soil and, for a time, it appears that nothing is happening. Yet beneath the surface, transformation has already begun. A tiny shoot emerges, gradually becoming a stronger plant, until eventually the golden ears of grain appear, carrying within them the potential for future life.
There is a beautiful parallel here with the human journey.
Ayurveda recognises that all whole foods — grains, fruits, vegetables, seeds and nuts — carry within them the intelligence of nature that formed them. To grow from a tiny seed into a mature plant, grain requires prana: the vital force that provides the energy and movement needed for growth. It also carries an innate intelligence that directs this process towards its natural fulfilment.
The same principles operate within us.
The food we eat is transformed through digestion and becomes the building blocks of our tissues, the dhatus. In Ayurveda, nourishment is understood as a gradual process, with food transformed from rasa into increasingly deeper tissues until it ultimately supports the continuation of life.
Just as the grain matures until it produces seed, carrying within it the possibility of new growth, so too does the human body transform nourishment until it supports the continuation of human life.
Life nourishes life.
The same elements that created the grain are also present within us. The same prana that moved through the seed, the soil and the growing plant moves through our own bodies. The same intelligence that guided the grain towards maturity supports our own capacity to grow, heal and thrive.
When we eat whole foods, therefore, we receive more than their nutrients. We receive something of the accumulated intelligence of their journey: sunlight, water, earth, minerals and life force. The prana within the food meets and nourishes our own prana.
When we truly see what has taken place to bring nourishment into our hands, gratitude can become a natural response.
A simple grain of wheat is no longer simply a grain of wheat.
It contains sunlight and rain. It has required soil and microorganisms, insects and weather, human hands and months of patient growth. It carries within it the potential for another life, while simultaneously offering its own life to nourish ours.
Grains are viewed with mixed perceptions these days. Some people embrace them as nourishing staples; others avoid them because of concerns around digestion, gluten, blood sugar or modern processing.
Ayurveda brings us back to a more individual enquiry.
Rather than asking simply, “Is this grain healthy?”, we might ask:
“Is this grain supportive for me, at this stage of life, in this season, in this form, and in the state of digestion I find myself today?”
Ayurveda does not ask us to follow rigid rules. It invites us into a conscious relationship with food, based on awareness, observation and respect for both the nature of a food and our own nature.
For many people, whole grains prepared appropriately can be a valuable part of a nourishing diet. When grain is refined, much of its original wholeness is removed. The germ and bran contain many of the grain’s nutrients and, importantly, the germ contains the potential for new growth. Once removed, the grain can no longer germinate.
This does not mean refined grains have no place. Ayurveda may, for example, recommend white rice when digestion is delicate or agni is weak. The wisdom lies not in labelling foods as good or bad, but in understanding their qualities and responding with awareness.
Perhaps, ultimately, the greatest nourishment grain offers us is not simply physical.
It reminds us of something we easily forget.
We are not separate from the living world.
We are nourished by it, formed from it and dependent upon it. The food on our plate is part of an ancient exchange in which life continually gives itself so that life may continue.
And when we remember this, perhaps even the simple act of preparing a bowl of rice or oats can become an act of reverence.
This week, you might like to explore bringing these reflections into your daily life.
Perhaps you might introduce a seasonal whole grain you don’t usually cook with.
Or prepare a familiar grain in a more mindful way
Pause before a meal to acknowledge the journey of your food
As you make these changes, spend a few quiet moments after eating, reflecting:
Allow your own experience to become your greatest teacher.
This week, perhaps choose one meal in which grain is part of your nourishment and prepare it with complete presence.
Notice the colours, textures, aromas and sounds.
As you wash the grains, listen to the sound of water moving through them. If you soak them, notice the tiny bubbles appearing as the dormant seed responds to water. If you use a mortar and pestle, feel the rhythm of your hands and listen as the grain is transformed.
Before eating, pause for a moment.
Remember the journey that has brought this food from earth, sunlight and rain into your kitchen. Remember the farmer, the soil, the elements and the countless unseen processes that have contributed to this one simple meal.
You might even place a small spoonful of the cooked grain in a separate bowl as a gesture of gratitude.
Then eat slowly, savournig the taste and receptive to all that grain offers you.
Motice whether your experience of the food changes when you remember what it truly is.
Not simply something we consume but life nourishing life.
Spring – Lightening and Drying
Spring is governed by Kapha, with its qualities of coolness, dampness, heaviness and stability. As nature begins to awaken, lighter and more drying grains can help balance the tendency towards sluggishness and congestion that can arise at this time.
Favour grains such as barley, millet, buckwheat and quinoa, particularly if you naturally carry more Kapha qualities.
A Vata person may still enjoy these grains but may choose to prepare them with more grounding and warming qualities – perhaps adding a little ghee, cold-pressed sesame oil or warming spices.
Summer – Cooling and Moistening
Summer carries the qualities of heat, intensity and lightness. During this season, gentler, more cooling grains can be supportive. Grains such as rice, oats and quinoa may help provide nourishment while respecting the lighter, warmer qualities of the season.
Again, Ayurveda reminds us that the same grain may be prepared differently according to our individual type and needs.
Late Summer and Early Autumn – Grounding and Nourishing
As summer begins to soften and autumn approaches, nature gradually invites us towards grounding and stability.
This is a natural time to begin favouring more nourishing grains, such as wheat, spelt, oats and rice. Those with a stronger Vata constitution may particularly appreciate these more grounding grains as the season begins to shift.
Autumn and Early Winter – Strengthening and Building
Autumn and early winter bring the qualities of Vata: cold, dryness, movement and change. At this time, the body often benefits from foods that are warm, nourishing and grounding.
Supportive grains may again include oats, rice (including white basmati rice when easier digestion is needed), spelt and wheat. Preparing these grains with a little ghee or oil and warming spices can further support balance as we move deeper into winter.