Salt of the Earth People
MARY: "Bread, that this house may never know hunger. Salt, that life may always have flavor."
GEORGE: "And wine, that joy and prosperity may reign forever. Enter the Martini Castle."
When Michael and I first moved into our first rental together, we were gifted with salt, bread and wine by our friends, the Allcorns. We lived in the donut hole of Long Beach; a city called Signal Hill. It was literally located in the center of the city, Long Beach, which surrounded all sides of it as well.
It was a home directly resembling the Haunted Shack of Knotts Berry Farm: no straight lines, everything tilted; for our anniversary, Michael gave me a level.
Knowing I was continuously frustrated with hanging pictures that were level but appeared crooked and the never-ending filling and refilling of water in our aquarium which listed to one side - forever showing a slanted water line.
It always made for a great conversation - that is, if you didn’t get nauseous during our home illusion of being level-headed (get it???)
Living in a community teaches you something very specific about goodness.
When we moved to Salt Lake City, we needed a few things:
A safe place to raise (our yet to occur) children
Careers that would provide us with livable wages
A place where we could find our second families - knowing we were moving to a place where no blood relatives would reside.
“Salt of the Earth” people are the ones who quietly hold things together. They show up with casseroles and texts that say thinking of you. They sit in waiting rooms. They stay late. They listen without fixing. They care for bodies, hearts, homes, and spirits when life becomes fragile.
I’m away from home now.
I’m caring for my mom on the Central Coast in California and then my friend Jules who will be recovering from a knee replacement. I’ll be away for a while.
Michael just completed his 4th chemo treatment and after a LOOOOOONG discussion about me being away for this, Michael assured me that our community would come forward to assist.
After his 2nd consecutive day of treatment, he found himself on the phone for 5 hours. He told me, “I’ve never been so popular!”
While I write, our friends Carolyn and her daughter Rae are coming over tonight for soup and salad and to help walk dogs. (It’s hard for a firefighter to ask for help, but they get to fall into the reception line of wellness once in awhile.)
In wellness and healing communities, these people are everywhere.
Caregivers. Teachers. Nurses. Energy workers. Fire families. Neighbors who check in. Friends who don’t disappear when things get hard.
The phrase “Salt of the Earth” comes from a sacred place—an essential one. Salt preserved what mattered. It gave flavor to the ordinary. It helped fires burn and ovens work. Without it, things spoiled or went cold.
It fills our oceans (and our Great Salt - inland - Lake). It’s a place I walk to nightly before dinner with mom. I smell the salt and breathe in it’s healing remedy.
Salt-of-the-Earth people preserve goodness.
They keep compassion alive in a weary world.
They make life more bearable, sometimes even beautiful, through steady kindness rather than grand gestures.
Living near the Great Salt Lake, this metaphor feels especially close to home.
The lake itself IS the salt of the earth—ancient, essential, misunderstood. It supports ecosystems, birds, air quality, and climate balance. It has quietly held this region together for generations. And yet, like so many caregivers and healers, it has been taken for granted.
In this time of global warming, drought, and rapid change, the Great Salt Lake is asking for care. Not attention-seeking care. Not performative care. But the same kind of steady, responsible, communal care that salt-of-the-earth people give every day.
Care looks like awareness.
Care looks like restraint.
Care looks like choosing long-term health over short-term convenience.
In healing work, we talk often about tending what sustains us—our nervous systems, our bodies, our relationships. The land asks for the same respect.
The lake asks to be preserved, not extracted.
To be honored, not ignored.
Salt of the Earth people understand this instinctively. They know that what is essential must be protected—whether it is a child, a patient, a community, or a body of water that holds an entire region together.
Perhaps the invitation is simple:
Care for the ones who care for others.
Care for the systems that support life.
Care for the salt that preserves what matters.
And trust that this quiet work—done faithfully, imperfectly, and together—is how healing continues.
Always,
One Grain at a Time
At Amy Conn Yoga, I believe access to healing matters — especially during uncertain and heavy times.
For this reason, Reiki wellness sessions are currently being offered at 50% off until a new U.S. president is in office. This is an intentional choice to keep care, calm, and nervous-system support available to our community during this season.
Available sessions include:
Preteen Wellness Reiki
Teen Wellness Reiki
Adult Wellness Reiki
Each session is gentle, trauma-informed, and grounded in compassion, supporting emotional balance, stress relief, and a greater sense of steadiness during times of change.
If your body feels tired, your heart feels tender, or the world feels loud, this is your invitation to rest, reset, and receive. You don’t have to carry it alone.
Spots are limited, and booking is currently open.
