The anxieties of parenting children in an expensive city on a student income with a husband stuck in immigration limbo are very, very real. You know that statistic about how most Americans are one paycheck away from homelessness?

Hi, I’m Sarah and I can’t afford anything, but I am feeling quite wealthy today.

Nearly everyone of my generation understands how a single event can throw you off the hamster wheel of financial security, and I had several of those events happen in one week, Mercury being retrograde and all that. I used to pride myself on remaining calm in nearly every kind of difficult situation, but that was before I woke up in an apartment stinking of rotten meat and dairy because our refrigerator decided to break down on the hottest day of the year. And we don’t have an AC. And there was a fire in the electrical breaker which would cost a bomb to repair. And the balcony door, our only source of respite from the heat, lacked a screen door, screen doors being another Expensive Thing, so black flies infested my immaculately clean home, attracted to the rotting food I was frantically trying to clean out. While wondering what we’ll eat all week. And waiting for an emergency international wire transfer. And worrying about an immediate family member’s serious illness. And oh, also the thing about having two children and a job and chronic illness and a degree to finish.

Shit happens, right?

After going through the usual cycle of self-blame, denial, self-blame, anger, unhealthy binges, crying, more anger, self-pity, frenzied adulting, escapism, more crying and so on and so forth, it rained, and-hot weather being the thing I abhor most in the world-my mood improved. I am, after all, here, and this too shall pass. Here on earth, which I happen to love very much. Here on a beautiful little piece of earth, which I get to love without even trying. I sat by the water and really and truly prayed for a change in perspective. I didn’t feel a whole lot better right away, because the fridge was still broken and I was still broke and my body is breaking, but I was marginally more hopeful.

Later in the day, walking home from a dinner of fried snacks at a nearby bar (“Fancy Grownup Restaurant!!” my kids called it), we decided to sit by the lake until bedtime. The trees around us were heavy with Juneberries and mulberries, and my 4 year old, an aspiring botanist, noticed. Within a few minutes, the children had formed a little gang with a few others about their size, as children do, and soon six of them were climbing trees, sampling berries, mouths stained with purple juice. They filled up their T shirts, and when those were full, their socks and shoes, with berries, and then came down and devised a plan to put up a Berry Stand.

You can’t sell wild fruit, I told them. The earth gave it to you for free. It’s a gift, and you don’t sell gifts.

From an adult I’d expect some kind of resistance to this idea, but children are naturally wiser, so they nodded seriously. They found a crayon in my handbag and used it to make a sign saying FREE BERRIES, and then chased down elderly folks doing Tai Chi and young couples out with babies, eager to share the gifts they had collected. People were incredibly kind. Nobody pointed out that it’s just a little disgusting to eat a mulberry out of a child’s shoe. Most of them feigned absolute delight. One father offered to buy them all ice cream. People stopped and gave their time, love and even money.

And there it was, my prayer being answered in socks full of Juneberries. I had been feeling impoverished and out of control, focused entirely on resources I don’t have, and I had asked to be shown otherwise. The earth is abundant with surprises and gifts for us, and when we step out of the capitalist traps we set for ourselves and into the gift economy where we can exchange a free berry for a little wonder and a little joy, it multiplies like dandelions.

I can’t control the thing with the fridge, the breaker, the bills. I can’t. But I can teach my children not to try and sell something wild and free at the expense of sharing some of their joy. I can remember what it is to be absolutely delighted by the inconvenience of needing to eat dinner at a bar. I can admire the rabbits and butterflies and geese and swans attracted to the plants pregnant with summer fruit, and smell the smells of summer, and realize how quickly some prayers are answered.