our out-of-town guest had never been here before. not to our state, not to our town, not to the shores of lake michigan, not to our home.
staying at the local hotel right on the harbor channel, she sent photographs right after arriving, stunned by how beautiful it was. she repeatedly expressed this – along the lakefront, on the channel, by the rocks, in the gardens, in our neighborhood, in our old house, on our patio.
through her eyes we saw Home.
this week i passed through my 37th anniversary of living in our old house. more than half my entire life, it’s longer than i’ve lived anywhere else.
sometimes – no matter where you live – you stop seeing it…really seeing it.
and you get caught up in every everything else.
and you miss the sweet creak of the floors, the breeze off the lake, summer sunlight streaming in all the windows, the fresh basil in ball jars in the kitchen, the dogga-holes in the backyard, the giant pots filled with flowers in the parks, people out sidewalk-walking together, the birds lined up for grape jelly, sunset’s eastern sky over the water, the sound of children giggling in the surf at the beach or an amplified live band drifting over from by the harbor.
it might benefit each of us – even for just a few minutes – to just follow the advice of this chalk artist:
they will come back to grind out the stump. the crew said it will likely be a few weeks before the grinders get around to it, but eventually they’ll come and remove the last vestiges of our sturdy old tree.
after that we can get on a list for a new tree, the cost partially underwritten by the city. there’s a list of tree varieties one might choose from, depending upon availability. we’ve printed the current list and have begun studying trees – like one studies refrigerators or washers and dryers when you need one – immersing in photographs and information and reviews.
when we are officially on the list we will request our tree; we are actually hoping – with all the space out front – we might be able to purchase two. we’ll see. and then, maybe in the fall (or next year?) it (or they) will be planted in our parkway and we will start a new relationship with our tree or trees. it will signal a new time, a new era. and, in the way that these things go, it will also mark time. a new tree for both of us in this time of daisy-pathing.
there is something about a fresh start, something inviting, even compelling. a chance to write new narrative, from a different starting gate.
i can feel it – that fresh start – peeking out from around the corner. it has showered me from time to time with its freeing grace. and when it does, it is euphoric, a buzz of sorts – intoxicating like dopamine. releasing all harm that has been tightly held – stored – a toxic i did not choose but which has stayed with me through all the silent times.
and i hope – against hope – that soon i will also be a new tree. soon, there will be a sapling i can nurture. soon, there will be new growth, new branches and leaves. soon, all manner of the old pain-inducing stump inside will be gone.
and our new maple – or honeylocust – or ginkgo – and i will freshstart together.
after the fourth was over, i watched a video of the fireworks display in glenview, illinois – just down the road a-piece. by the time darkness had fallen, glenview was socked-in by fog. it looked like hundreds, if not thousands, of people had gathered, on chairs and blankets, ready for the show.
this is much like our town – our fireworks displays are held on the lakefront, over the water. there are crowds of people, gathered on bag chairs and blankets and beach towels. for the size of our city, the display – sponsored by the local grocery store – is actually amazing. though we haven’t attended the last two years, i know that it is well-done, well-timed, well-managed and safer than those people who are setting off ridiculously large fireworks – overkill, really – in backyards with houses all around.
glenview was ready for theirs on the fourth. and, as the instagram video started, there was nothing to see. until suddenly, the foggy sky lit up in waves of orange and green and then red and then pink – much like heat lightning or aurora borealis. people began to laugh and ask where the fireworks were. the fog had taken its toll on the actual display and wasn’t letting go. had it lifted during the program of pyrotechnics, i’m sure it would have revealed beautiful sparkling sparks, clear trajectories of color, a stunning show. it appears it never lifted.
it seems that the fireworks in the nation’s capitol had a, well, similar problem. in a predictable effort to havethemostfireworksever, it appears that whatever company administered the fireworks very, very late on the fourth did not write a thoughtful show, did not reasonably time them, did not take into account rests inbetween the notes. instead, the longer the display went on – a display that was only designed to be thebiggestandthebest – the more smoke filled the air until the fireworks were no longer visible but for the smoke that had overtaken them. a fog of smoke caused by a fog of arrogant pretentiousness or poor planning or ignorant superiority or just plain incompetence. it’s not a surprise.
fog is one thing, but lacking capacity to properly time a fireworks display is completely another thing. wasteful. it should be embarrassing.
in a perfect parallel of themes, i wonder when the contrived-fog that has distorted the actual capacity to think for those cheering on this current administration might lift. when those who are sycophants, those complicit, those perhaps just-too-stupid-to-care might start to see things clearly. i wonder – if they ever do see things clearly – when they might actually do something about it…push back, speak up, put down the bigotry that blinds them.
i wonder if it will be too late. so much will have been wasted. so much will have lifted into thin air – behind the fog of this unconscionably destructive administration, gone, decimated, replaced – our democracy in tatters.
there were many comments on the glenview fireworks post. some people complained that they shouldn’t have gone. some people found humor in the natural circumstance of weather wreaking havoc on their fun. some people expressed they didn’t know what they were missing for they hadn’t been to the fireworks display before. it was all perfectly innocent. no one purposely interfered with their fireworks or destroyed their event.
what will socked-in people say when they come out of the fog of complicity and cultish-reverence and realize what is gone in this country isn’t natural, isn’t funny and, for sure, isn’t innocent? will they realize how a very purposeful intention set about to destroy their nation?
and the sailboat – in a bit of misty lake fog – sails on. and we sit in a country wasting away. it’s embarrassing.
there are paper plates hanging on trees just off the sidewalk all over our ‘hood. they announce that there will be a fourth of july parade early on the 4th.
for all the years i have lived here – longer than i’ve lived anywhere – there has been a childrens’ bike and stroller parade on independence day here in allendale. we used to have jack andrea at the front of the parade, beating a snare drum – with everyone, all decked out in red, white and blue with decorated bikes and strollers and wagons, following along. a joyous time followed by ice cream on author florence parry heide’s front lawn (now, for years, moved to a different front lawn).
at some point our children became too grown-up to participate in this parade and it was handed down to the younger children in the neighborhood.
for years now, we haven’t participated in it, but it still holds an old-timey sense of charm for me and i still can feel the anticipatory glee of little children who get to be in a parade.
only this time – as the parade makes its way around the blocks – i worry about what is to come for those very little children. this time – though we are celebrating our democracy – i wonder how long it will hold. this time – though a 250th celebration should be a big deal – i have to sit it out – the glee, the charm, the excitement. this time i have deep concern about where it is this country is heading.
dogga is more and more bothered by the fireworks, so we will not be leaving him as they proliferate throughout the lakefront. as our boundary-less neighbors set off giant fireworks directly behind our house, we will try to shield dogga from the noise and flashing lights, from the fire in the trees and the sky.
i worry about the opossums, the raccoon babies and the birds and squirrels in the trees adjacent to those pyrotechnics and crackers that rock the house. i worry about the fallout of bits of firework that we find in our yard and on our patio, our deck, inevitably our roof, the next morning. i worry about the lack of regard to safety and – as it approaches the wee hours of the night – i wonder about the lack of respect for others.
what is it they are celebrating? i wonder. what is it we-the-people are passing on to our children, our childrens’ children?
what about our country – in these moments – in the throes of unprecedented corruption – is there to celebrate?
the purple allium is in the garden over behind the art center on the lake.
as much as i have enjoyed a good fireworks display – and even a hand-held sparkler from time to time – this time – this year – in this country’s current circumstances – on this paper plate holiday – i will just glance over at the striking allium – exploding in all its purple glory – and call it a day.
in a diverse cross-section of life, i sat at the round table – one of fifteen such tables in the room. there are chairs, too, but not enough to accommodate all the people in the room, waiting.
it is a waiting place.
it is a jury room…and the hundred-twenty-five or so people gathered there all held a little orange card with their panel number on it.
it was a strange time to be serving jury duty, for more than one reason. the climate in this country does not seem to be one where the law is upheld, where the court is respected. and the ultimate court, those supreme justices, seem to be strangling the constitution at every turn. it is disconcerting.
i take this responsibility seriously. i’ve been on jury duty twice before. the first time i was merely 18 and in new york, called for two weeks. the second time i lived where i live now – and i, likely, sat in this same room as i waited for the high sign about my duty. that time i was sent home the first day. this next time, i was one of about 40 who remained in the room…
…and so we waited.
eventually we were told that cases had settled and that there would be no jury trials, that we could go home. i admit to being relieved, for i had much on my plate that might have precluded me from being the best juror i could be. and i believe that one must be the best juror one can be. in every single case.
and so as i look at the most recent decisions of the highest court of the land – the jurists above all others, i am appalled. how are these decisions upholding the united states constitution? how are these decisions aligning with the touted compassionate nature of this country? the empathy gap is extraordinary; the rhetoric of this political polarizing is aggressive and downright cruel beyond imagination. how is this the best these supreme judges can be?
it is utterly shameful.
another waiting place.
i hope for a profound watershed moment. i hope for the sun to come back out – to find its way, to wipe away the sickening darkness that has fallen upon our country. i hope for people to actually be the best versions of themselves – to use good moral conscience, to have compassion, to care about their sisters and brothers in the country and in the world, regardless of any social identifiers. i hope for this despicable time in the history of this country to end, for our nation to honestly examine how it got here, for people to honestly examine how their hearts embraced this bigotry and extremism. i hope to eradicate all that is choking off our democracy’s true potential so that it can be the best it can be, so that we can be the best we can be.
“the symbolism – and the substantive significance – of planting a tree has universal power in every culture and every society on earth, and it is a way for individual men, women and children to participate in creating solutions for the environmental crisis.” (al gore)
breck is as tall as halfway up to the peak of the garage now. it feels as if you could quite possibly sit in an adirondack chair – with time on your hands – and watch it grow…bits of branch reaching, reaching, leaf buds and then leaves unfurling and then more branch reaching, reaching and more leaf buds and more unfurling leaves. and it keeps going, despite the weather: storms and wind and hail and threatening conditions, despite it all. we love this quaking aspen.
breck, as i have mentioned, is the only tree i have ever – personally – purchased and planted.
we have had saplings planted on independence pass in honor of our mountain girl’s thirtieth birthday, we have had trees planted in memory of a cousin who loved the outdoors. but neither of us has had the opportunity to plant our own tree in our own yard – before breck.
because our shy-of-a-century-old maple has fallen, we will have another chance to pick out a tree – we hope two – to go in that parkway space between the sidewalk and the street. there is a reforestation program in our city that assumes part of the cost so that there are trees lining the streets of the city. it dates way back to the early 1900s when our ‘hood near the lake initially was planted with elegant elm trees, which, a couple decades later fell to disease. our maple had been steadily shading our home since the time of replanting. we will honor its beautiful and steadfast life by planting another tree – or two.
in the meanwhile, i’ve been whispering to the other trees here. the old – very tall – pine that is green about half-way ’round, its other branches shaded from the sun by neighboring trees, the spruce that stands in the opposite corner of the backyard. and the maples that are on the other side of the fence – they are enormous trees, towering over our backyard and our home. my whispers are for them to be stalwart, grounded, steady, flexible as we experience more and more extreme weather events…to stay standing all in one piece.
we have seen in recent days the dismantling – the decimation – of all kinds of laws as they pertain to climate change, all kinds of laws as they pertain to national forests, all kinds of laws as they pertain to national parks, all kinds of laws as they pertain to clean water, clean air, clean agriculture, all kinds of laws as they pertain to food growth safety, all kinds of laws as they pertain to livestock welfare, all kinds of laws as they pertain to renewable energy, all kinds of laws as they pertain to pollution, all kinds of laws as they pertain to science, all kinds of laws as they pertain to medical research….and all kinds of laws as they pertain to aggressive deregulation and expansion of timber production, regardless of any historic conservation or environmental protections. need i go on?
it is a heartless, short-sighted, ignorant set of ideals that annihilates, ravages, and diminishes the collective intellect of researchers, environmentalists, conservationists, scientists and that annihilates, ravages, diminishes and trashes the ecosystems of mother earth.
preservation is a much bigger word than demolition.
it feels like an honor – with substantive symbolism – to plant a tree in our yard – and to know that we will likely not be here to see it tower above our old house, to know that it will sustain through time – like trees do, to know that it will both breathe and generate clean air, to know that it will remember that we carefully chose it, we nurtured it, and we trusted it to stand fearlessly in the face of all change and any challenge.
because trees are like that.
“happy the man to whom every tree is a friend.” (john muir)
i could get lost in just gazing at this spot where greens converge. i find myself breathing deeply, taking it in, appreciating how utterly extraordinary the nuance, how textural, how life-affirming.
it has been a week. with multi-layered challenges, personal and nationwide.
in the middle of the week, neck spasms – which i had in february for the first time in my life – and which sent me to the emergency room – returned with a vengeance. to say that i was laying awake all night, fearful of the way these manifested in my shoulders, my jaw, my chest, my neck, would be an understatement. it was downright scary. and so painful – even for someone with a relatively high pain threshold.
when it finally slightly eased up for a bit in the morning – after a long, sleepless night – i was exhausted and overcome with how it must be for people who are in chronic pain. the chronic pain of disease, of life-altering treatment plans, of hunger and thirst and of not-enough, of homelessness, of psychological and emotional scars, of addiction, of deep, all-consuming worry. thinking of others always puts one’s own pain in perspective.
for a bit of time – the bit when the spasms did not refer to all these other parts of my upper body – i could breathe more deeply. and so i went outside to our deck and little potting stand – to look at new growth, to soak in the colors green.
in wednesday’s news there was much headlining about a quiet interview that the speaker of the house had on a tiny radio station in his home state. and, in that interview, he revealed the intention of this administration – to fix (read: gut) medicaid, medicare and social security in an effort to free up money so that this government might be able to make a dent in the country’s trillions of dollars of debt which is – clearly – attributed to mountains of tax cuts for the ultra-wealthy.
so. their goal? take away from the most vulnerable and the eldest in order to further bankroll the gluttony.
it is hard to wrap your head around this kind of whoring of humanity. the word “disgusted” barely touches it.
again, i say, there is no reverence. they have reverence for nothing.
i wonder what our communities, our states, our nation, our world will look like once they have eliminated all that is good, all that is natural, all that is lawful, all that is compassionate, all that is life-giving or life-affirming. what will be left after the land and the natural resources and the regular folk and the goodness are decimated?
as i stood and looked at our tiny vegetable and herb garden, i was filled by the beauty, wrapped in the essence of green, and a sense of balance was restored in me.
though the spasms started up again, this is not about my neck spasms. when they re-started, i felt slightly more equipped to deal with them, carrying into the pain the knowledge that they would – in time – ease up.
but for some, there is no easing up. there is only long-term pain, without ceasing.
there are people intentionally hunted down for their ethnicity, people intentionally taken off rolls for food assistance, medical assistance, housing assistance. people removed from jobs of science and education and journalism so that the country ceases progressive forward-movement and so that the only narrative going forth is vile, self-serving propaganda. there are people targeted by the brandishing of bigotry. there are people whose chronic pain – no matter what it is – no matter the umbrella under which it falls – seem a nuisance to this administration, an administration without a heart or a conscience or any sense of reverence for anything other than self and money and retribution.
were i to be given a choice – live acknowledging simplicities – like the nuance of green OR live inside the insanity of always-wanting-needing-hoarding of moremoremore – i would go with cherishing the tomato plants and herbs and lavender and licorice plant every time.
i would go with the convergence of green, the convergence of goodness, the convergence of growth, the nuance of breath, the affirmation of life, living and reverence for it all.
we can’t wait for this evening. we will drive the backroads with hundreds of thousands of others in wisconsin – all out on a friday night.
we can’t wait for this evening. we will join with fifty-thousand others in milwaukee attending one of the three days of PRIDEFEST.
we can’t wait for this evening. we will be with the tens of thousands wandering the summerfest grounds for the friday evening shows.
we can’t wait for this evening. we will stand in the dance pavilion – out in front, in the house, or backstage – either place – with over five thousand other people in that same pavilion and gathered all around its edges – and we will watch our son perform.
we can’t wait for this evening. we will have the moment of his first downbeat, the moment he raises his hands in the air, the joy on his face under spotlights and between pyrotechnic fountains of sparkling stars and confetti releases. we will likely be standing and dancing and cheering with a group of his friends, a group of deric’s friends – deric who shares the stage with craig as they perform together as EDM artists DOGGPOUND.
we can’t wait for this evening. we will hug him after his performance, ecstatic with him on this day, on this journey. our own pride will be bursting and he will absolutely know it. just as he has absolutely known – since the very moment he came out – that he is loved and – with-no-exceptions – completely accepted, embraced and supported.
we can’t wait for this evening. we’ll watch him and a large contingency of friends and fans as they all go on their way, celebrating peaceful coexistence at this celebratory festival. we will walk around, buy rainbow trinkets, happily ensconced and feeling a sense of belonging.
we can’t wait for this evening when we drive home on those same backroads and talk about the night. we will be exhausted and exhilarated. we will be thrilled to have spent such amazing time with our son – we will be looking forward to the next.
and then, we can’t wait for chicago’s PRIDEFEST when we’ll take the train down and spend an afternoon and evening in the streets of boystown. we’ll stand with the setting sun on our faces and – again – watch our son perform. there will be many hugs – his friends will surround us and make us feel at home. and at the end of that day, getting back on the train, we will again feel exhausted and exhilarated, both. we will sit back and talk about the day and the people – the people – all of whom are there to just simply honor each other and their very important place in the world – peacefully together.
we can’t wait for a day when all the world is a continual pridefest, when all the world honors each other’s place in the world, when all the world feels that kind of love for one another, when all the world lives in peace.
we’ve gotten a few plants now. a couple sweet potato vines, a couple licorice plants. we also have our basil, chives, parsley, cilantro, jalapeños, cherry tomatoes and lavender. in the last few days we transplanted them into clay pots for our potting stand or their new home on our deck or patio.
our first day at the nursery was completely about reconnaissance. the second – at a different nursery – was to be wowed and make a few purchases…four to be exact. we were directly behind someone who had ridiculously-loaded carts of plants and flowers, along with a ridiculously-loaded price tag. we were just as excited as she was, only our joy was about our four plants, not a multitude. there is a reality to budgeting and we try to plan our purchases wisely, particularly in these times.
our third day out was crowded with people, the nursery was messy and the plants were picked over, but we still managed to find some herbs and tomatoes, lavender, salvia and sweet purple flowers whose name escapes me. our fourth day we filled in the gaps. the nursery had resupplied and we picked up the mint, jalapeños, and little white with purple flowers to contrast with the purples we had already gotten.
d lined up all the pots and planters on the patio and i took out my gloves from the old cabinet we had placed on the deck. and then it started.
from individual elements – these small (though not inexpensive) plastic pots of baby plants – turning into our own backyard sanctuary, filled with potential of beautiful flowers and edible produce. exquisite. each morning we look out the window – in the earliest morning light – to see these new residents of our home. each morning they are enchanting.
one day – over a century ago – all the pieces of barney were put together into an upright piano. where he went from there is unknown, but we found him in the church’s basement boiler room, not exactly a prime location for this musicmaking instrument.
after we managed to have him delivered to our backyard instead of to the junkman, we were thrilled with his presence. his aging might have been preserved by some marine wax, but we chose to go organic with barney. he’s way more of a granola piano than a botox piano.
through the years we have now had him, he has become more and more gorgeous, more and more a part of our backyard, offering shelter to the wee critters, a landing pad for those who fly or scamper. barney’s higher-purpose presence is grounding and part of the peace we feel when we step out our back door.
it’s hard to believe that it is almost june again. already. summer is at the edges.
the last two nights we have had dinner outside on the deck. as the sun just begins to slightly wane – to fall off into acute angles with the horizon – we sit and chat while the garden lights reflect in the pond. we wait for hummingbirds to zoom to our feeder. we watch breck quake in the breeze, marvel at the play of birds and squirrels, adore our dogga laying on the deck in the shade. it is all enchanting.
as the dark begins to settle into the alcoves of our yard – the ferns breathe deeply, the peonies stretch – we yawn and make our way inside. as we settle in under our quilt we talk about our day. we talk about the delights of new plants, marvel at the perennials we are astounded to see again. we are grateful for plastic adirondack chairs, a tiny bistro set, two old gravity chairs and a couple round rugs – the trappings of our deck – a place we truly find enchanting.
as it turns out, we don’t require much to be enchanted.
the snow on the mountain groundcover creeps under the fence. it tries to take over the ornamental grasses, winds its way around our peonies, fills in spaces we didn’t necessarily need filled in. it’s invasive dressed in pretty. it has even given the wild geranium a run for its money. fortunately, the geranium – particularly under barney – has survived the overbearing groundcover and its sweet pink flowers are getting ready to bloom now.
i saw a post the other day that was a gut-punch. the words on the post read: “it’s illegal to feed wildlife at national parks because they get dependent on handouts and forget how to survive. it kinda sounds familiar, doesn’t it?‘ the photograph with the post was depicting minority moms and children in line with shopping bags and grocery pushcarts.
it literally made me ill. because it was posted by a neighbor with a comment that read, “hmmmm.” just despicable. and downright hard to believe that there are people who really feel that way. haughty. sickening. overbearing. uncaring. bigoted.
creepy and invasive.
that kind of bullshit post enrages me. it’s unconscionable. the hatred is just exhausting. how dare he/they be so righteous, so pompous, so entitled? with clearly no heart at all – no empathy – no love-one-another in their soul, no we-are-our-brother’s/sister’s-keeper. the judgment and demeaning attitude.
i could go on.
but i won’t.
because i am hoping that most of us in this country will be like the intrepid wild geranium. that we will bloom despite the invasive stuff that purports to be pretty.
that we will be able to spread goodness and kindness and compassion.
that we can possibly be the nation we were destined to become in a world that needs the caring interdependence of all people.
that we aren’t dreadful people who believe despicable things and then share those extreme racist views with the world, hoping for “likes”.
snow on the mountain is “incredibly invasive and will spread indefinitely if not restrained.”
*****
sorry about the language. but sometimes it fits. 🤷♀️
reverse threading 