When Fear Drives The Bus

photo by Leesa at wildvizionz.com

If critters can interact peacefully, so can we

Black And White Thinking

Yesterday I found myself doing that slow crying where you don’t realize it until you discover that your face is wet. Disheartened. Heartsick. Heartbroken. Like everyone else, I’ve been watching more news than is good for me; it’s nauseatingly, horrifyingly fascinating. I keep saying I won’t watch anymore but I can’t seem to stop. One especially painful element is the clear prevalence of black and white thinking on display right now; all white people are A (right?), all people of color are B, all police are X, all protesters are Y, all looters are Z, all corporations are XYZ. It’s much easier to fall back on generalizing and blaming/shaming than to recognize that we are all complex; we each have the seeds of everything in us, from peaceableness to passion, from anger and aggression to generosity and gentle kindness. I’ve been feeling very uncomfortable with my own emerging desire for perpetrators of evil to be punished in ways that really hurt them. I’ve never seen my own desire to hurt anyone else before and though I don’t want to do the punishing, I do want it to be done. Realizing that is bone-deep nauseating.

I can’t condone violence and I can’t truly understand it either because I’ve never needed to understand it. Nobody lives for close to 70 years on the planet without experiencing or witnessing some form of violence, but I always had the ability to look away, or to walk away. My life hasn’t been uneventful but despite some pretty rocky patches, I have almost always felt physically safe. I’ve never lacked food for any significant length of time. If I occasionally lacked housing, I never felt myself to be homeless because I assumed (correctly) that the situation was temporary. Looting is similarly obscured by privilege for me; I dislike being in crowds, I don’t enjoy noisy situations, and I am uncomfortable around people who are emoting strongly about pretty much anything. Nothing in me wants to grab a tv set and run, but then, I don’t watch tv and if I wanted one, I could buy it. I can’t feel judgement about people who do loot in riot situations, except when I can see plainly that the destruction is very deliberately being done, not by local people, but by paid agitators whose goal seems to be dividing and conquering our country.

Listening To Looters

Throughout human history, the difference between looters and those able to profit from disruption, deprivation, and danger has always been power and the lack thereof. In truth, the biggest looters I know of are the kleptocrats, corporations, and politicians who gleefully rape and pillage the planet and its people in the name of profit (or sometimes just because they can). I keep thinking about Dr. King saying, “A riot is the language of the unheard.” It took me years to wonder what, exactly, we weren’t hearing (ok, I wasn’t hearing), and to look past my assumptions to find out. What I’m hearing now is that some of those who took advantage of disruption to loot want to disrupt society, damage the social justice movement, and scare the crap out of peaceful, unarmed people. From others, I’m hearing the rage of being systematically unheard, unseen, unwanted, and unvalued, especially by people who don’t even want to know anything about fellow humans because on some level, they can’t feel superior unless someone else can be considered inferior.

Another painful piece is the astonishing, seemingly blind and deaf ignorance of so many of us wannabe helpers about what is helpful and what’s definitely not. We watch a white woman carefully spray paint “BLM” on a storefront, maybe feeling pleased to be pointing out a solid truth, then be dismayed as she’s reminded by a Black woman, “Don’t you realize WE will get blamed for that?” “But I’m only trying to help…” Ouch. I can hear myself saying that at so many times and places through my life. I’m only trying to help, but if I don’t take the time and invest the energy in learning what help would/might look and feel like for the people I’m wanting to help, I can’t be helpful except by accident. If I knew better, maybe I wouldn’t keep offering my simplistic, reflexive idea of help instead of what’s truly needed. We who are people of privilege must be brave enough to open our eyes and our ears and look and listen. Talking about racism won’t kill us but our silence can be deadly.

A Tale Of Two Cats

Fear drives every part of human history. It’s part of our DNA that we share with much of the animal world, particularly prey animals. I thought about that a few days ago, when a wild storm brought explosive, crashing thunder and more lightning than I’ve seen in one day, let alone a crowded hour (turns out it was about 2/3 of our typical annual allotment). While the storm raged, the windows shook and hail slammed the roof like a thousand hammer blows. During all this, one of our cats huddled under a bed, too terrified to poke her head out. The other cat sprawled on a wide windowsill, watching the storm for a while, then curling up for a nap even as hail rattled the window. A few minutes ago, I caught one cat bullying the other, who was backed into a corner of the laundry room, growling a bit but not fighting. She could easily have jumped up on a tall counter (the other cat is too fat to leap so high) but she stuck her ground, looking a little cross but mostly ignoring the aggressor, who threatened and snarled. Surprisingly, the aggressor is the scaredy cat who huddled under the bed, while the peaceable one napped through the noisy storm

Even after a year of living together in a small house, despite the imperturbable cat remaining calm no matter what, the fearful cat remains hyper alert, easily terrified and often aggressive. This morning’s situation reminded my daughter of something H.P. Lovecraft, master of horror fiction, notably said: “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.” The entire world is living with multiple unknowns these days, and fear is clearly driving the bus. When we realize that our government is clueless about the results of their action and has no idea of how to help us (or much desire to be helpful to any but cronies), it can feel terrifying. I’ve been afraid for so long now that sometimes I forget al about it, as people do when living through slow-motion disasters.

Let’s Stop It!

After years of relentless abusive rhetoric and illegal, inhumane legislation, many of us already feel helpless. What’s the use of trying? Let’s stop that right now! That is part of The Hateful Plan; we are intended to feel helpless and despairing so we’ll get discouraged and stop working for change. The truth is that little things do add up. Small changes do make a difference. Over time, one honest, clear voice can change many minds and habits for others, who can change minds and habits in turn. Little changes, little ideas, little voices add up and do indeed change the world, if slowly. I often think of a concert pianist friend who said, “Bach’s music is made up of layer upon layer of simplicity.” Layer on layer of small, simple changes can weave the world we want to share. Stop, Look, and Listen. Onward!

 

 

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Decoration Day

There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in-and out

Stormy Weather And Silver Linings

This Memorial Day is the most painful I’ve ever experienced. In the past, I thought of it as many people seem to; a national holiday weekend, the beginning of summer, time for relaxing and fun, for picnics and parties. It wasn’t always so light-hearted; in the aftermath of the American Civil War, the last Monday in May was declared Decoration Day, a day set aside for families to visit cemeteries and decorate the graves of their beloved lost. It was a solemn time of remembrance and grief for a country deeply, brutally divided, both politically and socioeconomically. Over time, the day became more of a celebration of ancestors, with families gathering at cemeteries with picnics, weeding and tidying up grave plots, planting bulbs and shrubs. Family graves were decorated with flowers, while those of military men and women were honored with American flags, reminders that their lives had been given for our country. This year, it’s painfully clear that our country is as divided as it has ever been, and the national response to the pandemic is driving us further apart instead of pulling us together.

We’ve become such a mobile society that decorating ancestral graves isn’t so easy anymore. We may live hundreds or thousands of miles from family graves, and many families are more loosely connected than in the past. Though honoring ancestors remains a significant tradition in many cultures around the world, many American have lost the rootedness that made decorating family graves feel natural and comforting. Instead, we watch a kleptocrat mouth empty platitudes about honoring our military, then head back to the gold course while the dreadful virus rips through our VA hospitals and care facilities (13,302 affected so far) and affects thousands (8,950) of actively serving members of the military. People, not personnel.

Grieving Honors The Lost

Today, we can also honor nearly 100,000 Americans who have died in the past few months. Killed by the world-changing pandemic, these people’s lives are a heavy price to pay for our national government’s prideful negligence. That’s a lot of suffering, innocent lives cut short in horrible, painful, terrifying ways and so far, the current regime offers more threats, excuses, and challenges than condolences. I’m sick at heart for nearly 250,000 other people around the world who have died in the pandemic. I’m grieving for their families and friends and coworkers too, for everyone affected by this huge disaster. But wait, there’s more! There is increasing evidence that pandemics are encouraged by ecological destruction. When humans destroy habitat, we come into more contact with wild animals, opening the door for zoonatic disease transmission (diseases of animal origin that can jump to people). And shall we add in wet markets and meat processing?

I’m grieving the lost habitat that opens those doors all around the world, making pandemics more likely. I’m grieving the millions of lost plants and animals, too. I’m also grieving the losses of connection and community that give structure to human lives. The more we value privacy and individual rights, the less interest we have in promoting connection or participating in community. Just as habitat destruction can lead to pandemics, the erosion of community cultures opens gateways to addictions and violence, both based in deep fear. Many studies show that addictions and social terrorism are rooted in the lack of connection and community that’s made worse by trauma and major losses. When we are in dire need of connection, we are most likely to end up in a hospital or mental facility, usually with a constantly changing cast of caregivers.

Silver Linings, Golden Light

Humans need to be in community, yet right now, we can’t safely get together in person. We are having to learn to reach out in different ways, making more phone calls, texting and sending pictures, even writing notes and cards and letters (almost a lost art). We are discovering how to navigate the protocols of online meetings in various formats, learning the etiquette of speaking in turn, observing each other more closely, watching to see who’s waiting to speak, who’s drifting off, who’s feeling bereft, who’s checking their phone. We are learning how to pay attention in new ways, how to listen to what is and isn’t being said.

One silver lining to our social isolation is that when we do connect, the conversation often feels deeper and richer than usual. I’m finding myself listening better these days, inviting insights, feelings, and ideas that emerge more freely in slow, unhurried conversations than in quick check-in chats. I’ve been phone-visiting lately with my mom’s sister, hearing funny, sad, and often enlightening family stories that my mother never shared, the kind that explain a LOT. I’m having deeply rewarding conversations with my fellow Trans-parents, the kind where we hesitate and fumble for words, laugh and cry and laugh again, feeling nourished by recognition and strengthened by understanding. I’m finding peace and comfort in remembering that we are all broken, that humans have always been broken, and that sharing brokenness can bring us closer together. I can hear Leonard Cohen right now, singing my favorite song, Anthem; “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” So let there be light.

 

 

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Gardening In The Time Of Disaster

Friendship is golden

Pressure Drop

How are you managing your days right now? As the weeks and months roll by, there have been so many shifts in my own attitude, from stunned shock to obsessive researching to bone deep grief to overloaded numbness. It’s not quite apathy, but more just a feeling that my circuits are full. This state of being has a silver lining or two; as a reluctant driver, I dread off-island trips, usually freaking out as my tiny car gets buffeted by wind on the high bridge to the Kitsap Peninsula. This week, I found myself halfway to Indianola before I remembered to panic, and by then, it was too late; I just couldn’t find the energy to get upset. I’ve been dropping off plant starts and fresh bread for my family, but keeping my distance, just to be safe, and it usually leaves me sobbing all the way home because I miss being with my grandkids so much. This time, I realized that I wasn’t anxious or fretting at all, the whole time.

On the way home, I figured out that my anxiety pocket are simply full up, topped off by all the fresh disasters that face us every single day now. I drove home without a twinge, wondering if this is how normal people feel all the time when they drive all over the place, as I haven’t been able to do before. In some weird way, the mounting pressure is tapering off and I’m sleeping better and feeling more peaceable. Wow, right? Is homeostasis really so strong that we can get used to pretty much anything? I’m fascinated by the idea that we can be too worried to feel worried, though it does bring back echoes of times when I was caring for dying family and friends-you just keep on keeping on because that’s what there is to do. This time, though, the deep sorrow seems submerged, far below the surface. I feel like a waterbug, skimming over deep, deep water, safe as long as the surface tension doesn’t break. This morning, I recalled that back in February, my doctor described what she and many colleagues were calling a national epidemic of climate and/or political depression. I had forgotten all that, but it’s worth remembering that the pandemic found us already in a state of profound, powerful grief. We went into this crisis fully loaded with sorrows and we humans are only built to bear so much.

Remembering The Mountain

Today is the 40th anniversary of the explosion of Mount St. Helens, a sight I’ll never forget. Along with a few hundred others, I climbed up the old stone water tower in Seattle’s Volunteer Park, peering on tiptoe over the trees of Capitol Hill to watch the roiling, boiling mushroom cloud climb higher and higher into the clear blue sky. Though expected, it was still shocking and terrifying to see such an exhibition of raw power. Even though we were too far away to feel the results directly, just watching the towering explosion expand was an overwhelming experience. I can’t help but think of the pandemic in a similar way, a gigantic, almost unimaginable event that we can only watch in powerless amazement.

Today I’m feeling that our nation and much of the world is like that mountain, with intolerable pressure building up to the bursting point. An explosion is inevitable; how and when it will occur is unknown but occur it will. In my lifetime, there have already been a number of significant blow ups, from the civil rights campaign to a wide range of human rights and ecological movements that have left the old norms teetering. Right now, the current regime is trying desperately to revoke and erase all the progress made in the past century but it’s not going to work. The bad old days were horrible for far too many people, and as the middle class is being systematically destroyed, an even larger majority of people are hurting, frightened, worried and increasingly angry. Something’s gotta give; the result won’t be pretty, but it will be powerful. I pray it will eventually be healing, but it’s obvious that more hurting is on the immediate horizon.

Peace Be With You

Every single day now, I feel exceptionally fortunate to be able to work in my garden. It is preserving my sanity, my balance, my health, in no uncertain terms. When appalling events come too fast and too furious, I can spend a few hours weeding or planting out baby beets and kale starts and feel my building blood pressure drop down. I can work quietly amid the purposeful bees, soothed by their gentle buzzing as they nuzzle each bloom to see if there’s any nectar on offer. Few things are more calming than potting up tomatoes and turnips, interlacing them with Clarkia and Limnanthes, California poppies and Achillea for the native bees, sweet alyssum, cosmos, petunias and marigolds for the honeybees. I’m tucking hardy herbs into cracks and crannies, especially all sorts of oreganos and thymes, which I use in the kitchen all year round. Tiny as it is, the garden is visited by a surprising number of little birds, from juncos and goldfinches to towhees and chickadees, sparrows and mourning doves.

Though this place is a teeny fraction of the size of my former gardens, it provides as much peace and comfort as the acres wide under my care have ever done. From this replenishment, I find renewal, returning strength I thought was all used up. Like a lot of people, I’ve been exploring careful ways to connect with friends who are equally careful, usually sitting together outside, facing the wind, feeling a precious little bit of normalcy. After an outdoor, distanced knitting session yesterday, I told my friend that I felt as satisfied as if we had shared a lovely meal together. Some deep hunger for plain old companionship was now replete and content. When I said, “Friendship is pure gold,” she replied, “Amen.” We need each other, and I believe that we will find a better way forward together.

 

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Traditional Plant Partnerships

So many beans, so little space….

Once Upon A Time There Were Four Sisters

Tomatoes and squash. Onions and lettuce. Peas and spinach. Carrot and peppers. Such beneficial garden partnerships are as often the result of many gardeners’ experiences as of formal research. Perhaps the oldest plant partners are the Three Sisters, traditional varieties of beans, squash, and corn grown for millennia by Native American Tribes from South And Central American clear up to the Great Lakes area. All are nutritionally dense food crops with compatible cultural requirements; full sun, decent soil, adequate water, and good drainage. In many traditional farms and gardens, seeds of all three are planted in mounds or hills of soil, especially where summer rains are heavy. Where rains are scanty, the plants are nestled into shallow troughs in the soil, so all precious water will be conserved. As corn grows tall, beans stabilize the sturdy stalks, keeping them upright in heavy wind and rain, while squash foliage forms a living mulch, suppressing weeds and keeping soil moist.

Since corn is wind pollinated, it’s not an easy crop for small gardens, as it grows better in generous blocks than skimpy rows. Corn can also cross pollinate easily, making seed saving chancy where gardens are small and close together, and neighbors may be growing different kinds of corn. Gardeners who lack room for corn can add a different sister to the mix; sunflowers. Another traditional American crop, sunflowers were long grown for their oil-rich, nutritious seeds. Tall, sturdy-stemmed sunflowers make excellent ladders for clingy sisters to climb. This classic partnership works best with dry beans, as the plants can grow old together and dry up without disturbance. Grow shell beans and green beans and flageolet on a trellis, chain link fence, or tack chicken wire on a wooden fence and let peas and beans roam freely.

Beany Babies

I love growing beans from seed, watching them burst through the soil, popping out their leaves like wide wings and leaning ardently towards the sun. If you want to try this, it’s definitely not too late; in warm gardens, they’ll be up and climbing by Memorial Day. Because nights are still cool around here, I start mine indoors between layers of damp flannel, slid into old zip bags to keep them evenly moist. Most will sprout within a week or so, when they can be gently tucked into 4-inch pots (held by the leaves, not their tender necks). Within another week or so, they’ll have several sets of true leaves and can be hardened off over a few days before we plant them out. My beany babies have been spending the days on my sunny porch steps and the nights back inside, but now they’re ready for planting.

WI’m especially excited about growing Good Mother Stallard beans, a heritage variety I was gifted. I cooked up a cupful, adding just a little onion, carrot and celery and was immediately hooked by the smooth, creamy beans and the flavorful broth. I sprouted a handful of the dry beans and they’re already rarin’ to grow. I’m also growing heritage Kentucky Wonder and Blue Lake pole beans, as well as a newer hybrid of the two called Kentucky Blue Pole, which ought to be excellent, given the parentage. Cherokee Golden Wax beans are my favorites for eating fresh, slivered into salads, quickly steamed or stir fried. My sunny space is so limited that I can’t indulge in more beans than this or my garden would be overrun, but sharing extra starts with neighbors is part of the pleasure of gardening.

Growing Gardeners

I know my grandkids will enjoy making a tipi of tall sticks and planting beans to grow up the sticks, creating a snug, shady play space. When my kids made these, I initially worried that someone would get stung, but the flowers stay on the outside of the structure and bees are too busy harvesting pollen and nectar to bother people who don’t bother them. As lower-growing blossoms set pods, they’re quickly claimed for the kitchen and later blossoms are soon out of reach. The kids love spending time in their tipi and always have stories and observations to share. Clearly, the best way to interest children in the natural world and the foodweb is to let them play and explore outdoors, in gardens as well as natural settings.

I’ve heard so many stories from ardent gardeners who learned to love gardening from a grandparent. Where young parents have very full plates, we oldies are often less busy (or can be less busy if we choose, as we are learning right now). In normal times, I’m apt to over-fill my own calendar, but it’s always felt important to keep time available for my grandkids. Since their infancy, they’ve been with me several times a week until just a few weeks ago. In mid March, I started sending them cards and seed packets, encouraging them to plant sunflowers and sweet alyssum, rainbow carrots and Easter Egg radishes. When I discovered that neither parent had time to help them, I took over flats of little pots full of good soil. So often getting help with a first step or two can nudge us into actions that don’t seem so daunting if all the materials are close at hand.

Seeds Of Future Gardeners

Now the kiddos are watering their plant babies faithfully and showing me their progress on our FaceTime calls. Will they become lifelong gardeners? There’s no telling; neither of my own kids are especially interested as adults, but I’ve been mentoring a growing number of young people who want to grow organic food. Passing along good soil and healthy starts is like offering benign, beneficial “gateway drugs” that make it easy to become enchanted with the whole green world. That’s why the starts we give away may turn out to be the most important seeds we ever plant. Onward, right?

 

 

 

Posted in Gardening With Children, Plant Partnerships, Sustainable Gardening, Sustainable Living, Teaching Gardening | Tagged , , | 3 Comments