every day now the mourning dove shows up. all by itself, it sits on the wire. not cooing or preening at all, it appears to be waiting, waiting.
something about this lone dove tugs at me every time i witness its silent vigil. it feels as if it has lost its life partner and its perch – high above the backyards it can see – gives it a place from which to search or from which to be quiet and pine. though i know that it could be acting as a sentinel for a nest or simply resting with an eye to predators, there is something else i can feel.
i’ve whispered up to this mourning dove – that i see it, that i am privy to its vigil and that i honor its steadfastness, its constancy. i tell it that i am witness to what seems like its sadness. i hardly know if it helps – or if the dove can hear me or understand me. but being here and watching and aware, it feels like i am honoring its story.
it is not unlike that which we could do for each other. all each others, regardless. if only we were to sit on metaphoric high wires quietly and listen to each other, honor each others’ stories, be witness to joy or pain, hold one another tenderly. if only.
it looked sickly hanging in the garden section of the home improvement store. there it was – all dry and twisted – a boston fern with no one to love it.
our sweet potato vine had given it up on the old vintage ladder that leans against the house on the deck. it was not handling life well there. we moved it to the top of barney and it came back to life, its lime green trailing around barney’s keyboard, its heart leaves offering company to all the birds and squirrels that frequent the top of barney’s upright-piano-ness.
we were sort of looking for something else for the ladder, though it was not with fervor – it’s only an old ladder on a deck leaning against the house – it is not necessarily a priority as summer wanes.
the sickly fern was in and amongst lots of other sickly ferns. this one, however, made it into our hands. “‘it’s $7.50,” i complained, “that’s a lot for a fern that looks like it’s not going to make it.” plus it felt like so many plants there needed people to care for them. i felt a little overwrought looking at all the dried-up herbs and annuals, perennials outgrowing their pots, the potted canna lilies and small ornamental trees fallen, laying on the concrete.
we pondered it – like we do most purchases – and decided to adopt the fern, bring it home, nurture it and hope for the best.
when we checked out, it rang up at $3.75 – half-price – making it a bit more palatable.
we placed it carefully in the backseat of big red and told it we were bringing it to a new home. we told it we would take care of it and not to worry – the first item of business was to get it some fresh water and sprinkle its crunchy-dry fronds.
it doesn’t really take much to take care of a fern. “ferny” as we dubbed it (because we are clever like that) perked up as soon as it started drinking in much-needed water.
devising a way to hang it from the ladder (three old shower curtain hooks did the trick!) we placed it in its new home. it immediately looked proud and we decided that next year we would go straight to the ferns for the ladder-on-the-deck.
now, as summer continues to wane, we are watching our tomatoes and mint start to lose their exuberance. the jalapeños are still trying to make new little baby peppers and the chives are pretty much going strong. our licorice plants all seem happy and so do the vines growing from the actual sweet potatoes we planted in dirt. but the other flowers are showing signs of fall coming, the ornamental grass plumes are changing color, the day lily flower shoots have browned and are ready for pulling. we are gearing up to enter a new season.
i wonder how ferny will do as time goes on – and september becomes october. i wonder if it will survive moving indoors as we are not necessarily intuitive green-thumbers.
no matter what, we will do the best we can. and if calling it by name (along with all the other named plants in our home) and cheering it on – best-guessing its care with the help of our horticultural friend google – will keep it nurtured and thriving, then we have set our course.
i am convinced of the direct relation between nurturing and flourishing. and that – nurturing – we can do.
early in the morning that day i was supposed to get on a flight south. i didn’t. it didn’t fly as scheduled. nothing was as scheduled.
way before the sun set that day everything was different. terror had reared its hideously ugly head and nothing was as it had been.
it is hard to believe it has been twenty-five years. it is way too easy to conjure up the emotion and grief of that day and the days that followed.
it is hard to believe the destruction that happened that day, the profound loss of human life, the dismantling of safety and trust. but the images stay in our minds, clear as the day it happened.
it is hard to believe the incredibly unifying moments – moments when people helped other people regardless of any social or cultural or economic or religious difference between them, moments when people reached out in love and earnest compassion, moments when rescue, when keeping each other safe and restoring some sort of sanity was paramount.
it is hard to believe that the magnanimity, the unselfish generosity, the steadfast dedication shown by emergency personnel and regular people has not been the irrefutable north star of all the populace since.
but here we are. in a country with an administration where goodwill has fallen to hatred and revenge, inhumane treatment of the people of this land.
and here we are – instead of taking – for the long term, the long haul – the lessons of interdependency, of humanitarian aid, of selflessness in a time of disaster, of caring about every each other, of respecting life, this administration has successfully shed any idea of goodness or kindness, thrust aside any efforts at unity, promoted hatred and divisiveness leading to the dismantling of families and friendships, communities and workplaces. and we – as a country – have been unable to carry forward those very unifying moments of that day and the days that followed, resorting instead to discord and schisms of pronounced chasmic size.
and here we are – with the official white house website hosting gameware that indoctrinates the children of this nation to heinous cruelty and bigotry and xenophobia, promoting the extremist “policies” of an administration bent on destroying democracy. not to mention all the other psychotic, narcissistic, pathologically-lying social media posts.
and here we are – a country with an administration that is absolutely ignoring any inconvenient legislation of the nation’s constitution, intent upon all things harmful and hurtful – to its people, the land, the resources, the water, the food, the health, the education, living conditions, safety and security. intent on all things ruinous.
“what we learn from history is that people don’t learn from history.” (warren buffett)
it was extremist mindset that besieged this country on september 11, 2001.
it is extremist mindset now.
it is hard to believe.
but here we are.
let us not forget that we are still capable of choosing to be those people – the ones who hold space for grief and loss, who actually learn from history and who opt for unity and the greater good.
when i was sixteen and seventeen and eighteen i spent a lot of time hanging out with crunch. he and i worked together at the dive center and were close pals. his fiancée lived a bit of a distance away so she left me to “keep an eye on him”. crunch didn’t need any eye kept on him – he was a straight-up good person. nevertheless, he became a part of the family and we had grand adventures together, most of them out on the water somewhere.
in the way that people stay with you through the decades of your life, there are certain things – expressions – behaviors – you take from them. there are several i cannot even begin to describe that i learned from crunch. one, though, came from spending a lot of time with him and our constant companions: our cameras.
because of crunch i am obsessive-compulsive about my horizon line. i can hear him in my head – keep your horizon straight, straight, straight. it has haunted me for the last almost fifty years. that’s a long time to hear someone in your head. but it never fails – every single time i take a photograph – whether it’s on water or high in the mountains, canyonlands or a wildflower meadow adjacent to a hiking trail – i can hear crunch’s voice: keep it straight.
there are worse things. things that have stood the test of time that i hear other people saying, things that are deflating or hurtful. so keep-the-horizon-straight is harmless and, actually, good advice…even over and over and over.
we are fortunate to be able to walk along lake michigan any time of day or night. a few steps and we are on the path that takes us past the rocky shoreline to the beach and the marina. every day we try to walk at least a 3.5 mile loop – and every day one of us comments about how lucky we are.
i have only been out on lake michigan’s waters once. on a sailboat a long time ago. i don’t remember much about it – it was an extraordinarily busy time of life and i think my sail got lost in the shuffle of other memories to remember. i’m fairly certain it was lovely – to set sail and be adrift in this lake-that-looks-like-an-ocean, this lake with so many personalities and moods, this big lake whose very energy we can feel at our house.
i always thought i would grow up to live on the shores of long island sound…somewhere along the rocky cliffs that fall to the beach, sunrises and sunsets over the horizon of water a part of my every day.
it didn’t turn out that way. i left long island prematurely, fleeing trauma and fear.
in recent days i have been back there – restoring my relationship with what was my beloved home, the water that grounded me for all those earlier years.
i still don’t think i will end up living on the shores of long island sound now. but here i am, mere steps away from a beautiful great lake – with access to it for day’s beginning or day’s end.
and as i stand on the rocks alongside the water’s edge, the sailboat – adrift – is lit by the west-sinking sun. i snap photos of it as it glows and i hear crunch – ever-present – “keep the horizon straight!”
the gardens on the side of the backyard where barney is are not fancy, but they are lush. they are full of daylilies and ornamental grasses, three peonies and a volunteer hosta or two. it is the side of the yard where squirrels scamper and hide with stolen cherry tomatoes, finches and house sparrows and cardinals gleefully dine on birdseed, barney ages into mellow beauty with wild geranium at its feet. back in the corner there is an old firepit with burgeoning red salvia, surrounded by dwarf sedge grasses, a few dark green-leafed hosta, and one struggling pampas grass by the back fence. when it all gets away from us, there are a few weeds scattered into this garden, a little more wild than the rest but well-loved nonetheless. with a very few exceptions, all of these plants in this side garden have been generous gifts from others – from their own gardens or purchased at nurseries for us – and we value and cherish each and every one.
we also value and cherish peace, so the metal peace sign we purchased at a garden shop in the little town a smidge north from where dogga was born is an ideal addition to this wild and verdant garden.
one of our neighbors needed to clear off some vine from the garage that runs along the second half – the further half – of this garden. naturally, granting permission for access to our yard, he came equipped to do the job – with a ladder and a bucket and snippers and bio-bags. as they are avid gardeners i did not feel like i needed to be out there, managing his work. we were keeping dogga inside during his task on this sunny day and so i did glance out the window often to monitor his progress.
watching him step – with both feet and sans any sensitive awareness – over the little garden edge-fencing into our garden and directly onto our daylilies – crushing them – was shocking. he moved around in our garden, his foot placement of no apparent concern to him.
i did not go outside to admonish him. i just couldn’t believe what he was doing. i guess i didn’t want to create conflict, but i was most certainly feeling the conflict.
when he was done, the brick of their garage was clear of vine, but our little garden next to barney was trampled. the daylilies lay on the ground, their fronds broken. there was no mention of any harm done to them, no apology, no contrition whatsoever.
i couldn’t help but wonder why it was that our garden was not good enough to protect in his effort to take care of his own property.
i couldn’t help but wonder what he would have done had i literally traipsed all over one of his gardens.
i couldn’t help but wonder – after – why i did not go outside and demand that he stop immediately and to be please be careful.
at what price is keeping the peace?
fancy or not, our garden counted. whatever was this disregard? i literally cried looking at our flattened lilies, what was lush and standing now mushed on the ground.
and, mostly, i was utterly upset with myself. in an effort to not stir the pot, i allowed this man to enter my yard – and to be ruinous – and i did not stop him or hold him accountable.
and that is not ok.
we mustn’t just stand back and allow any single person – or, for that matter, any administration – to crush that which is ours. we mustn’t permit others to run over us, to expect us to grant them undeserved or undue authority or accommodate any higher priority in which they cast themselves (or is it “caste” themselves?), to trample any part of the precious home we have created.
that is not peace.
peace: a state of harmony marked by the absence of hostility, violence or mental anxiety.
relational peace: treating other people with respect and kindness
global peace: respecting the earth and all living things
every bit of what happened here translates – from the smallest act of irreverent ruin to the most heinous – lack of respect is lack of respect. where is the line?
and now, we will be tending what-were-our-intrepid-daylilies, our boundaries, and the loss of a bit of our peace, hoping for them all to come back.
i found myself both infuriated and blubbering. it all suddenly became too much, much too much.
the daily corruption, the cruelty upon cruelty, the absence of any morality or conscience, the vapid extolling of this administration by sycophants – it is just too much.
and the fact that i have family members who agree with this – who cheerlead it – who believe in the extremism and the horror – who WANT this – and this: who have chosen all of this over their lifelong blood-related relationship with me – makes me ill.
it is heartbreaking – as i am sure it is for you as well…you who are dealing with this same sort of schism in your family, friend groups or community. i have lost family as a result of this administration. and that makes me feel rage.
we had survived a growing-up lifetime of memories, moments of utter joy, moments of anger and disagreement, moments of good health and struggling illness, moments of wondrous new birth and moments of despairing death, moments when laughter was the best approach to tension within the family, moments when forgiveness was necessary for betrayal. we had survived all of that – for almost six decades – with the bruises to show for it and the love that sustained it.
but this country’s twisted and irreverent leadership – its sadistic, bigoted, reprehensibly warped, narcissistic, gluttonous leaders – accompanied by cowardly, self-serving members of the cabinet and legislature, concentric circles doing the unconscionable – THIS has blown to bits this family.
there is silence in its wake.
and we are left like flotsam and jetsam – estranged – the detritus of a country-that-was – destroyed – we are floating around – isolated and grieving – without each other because of this.
because playing on the team of hate and division apparently became more fun than the hard work of love and unity. i can’t bear to think that the depravity was just more in alignment with them all along.
and suddenly, we are witnessing a generational family branch of our aspen tree.
breck has sent out roots and has established a tiny clone just next to our pond. this baby seedling has tentatively sprouted – with its pink stems and littlest aspen leaves – merely feet away from breck, growing in the shade that breck provides when afternoon sun is filtering through its branches.
seeing pando is on my bucket list…the ancient, interconnected organism that is more than forty-thousand aspen trees – all sharing the same root, the same dna. it is in utah and i can only imagine the profound hush that is – standing in thousands of quaking leaves, one of the largest single living organisms on earth.
what would it take for people to have this kind of awe about the interconnectedness of real live humans? what would it take for a hush to descend upon us as we stand in the midst of others, gathered together? what would it take to recognize the utter importance of preserving such a connection, of honoring it, of absolutely cherishing it? what would it take for humankind to acknowledge its ancient roots, its depth of wisdom, its trembling resilience, its soul?
what would it take for the family tree of humans – people all across the globe – to understand what family – all-inclusive-family – means, what family can accomplish together, how being truly connected – despite any differences – could perpetuate goodness…in a world that desperately needs goodness?
we will watch baby breck closely, tend to its safety, listen to the softest vibrations of its tiny leaves quaking, always aware of its quiet wisdom.
sweet potato black bean chili was on the menu, so we went to the hanging basket in the stairwell to get a couple sweet potatoes.
lo and behold, one of our sweet potatoes had sweet pink tendrils growing, growing. we giggled as we recalled last year’s pink-tendril-adorned sweet potatoes and how we planted them in big planters and they took over the world.
because the world could use a good takeover, we decided to plant our little catalyst and watch goodness grow and spread and blanket every single everything.
it didn’t take but a few short days and, already, this sweet sweet has leaves.
i have to say – it gives me hope.
nature – despite all the contrarians out there who don’t care about it – will prevail. and deep down – underneath all the evil intent and the scripted corruption and the yuck that is distressing those of us with moral centers – there will be goodness.
the sweet potato will vine. the tomatoes will ripen. the trees will turn in autumn. the hummingbirds will migrate. stars will explode with light and galaxy dust will scatter. there will be symphonies of sound in the woods and by the shore. love and compassion, empathy and altruism will roll in on the tide.
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.
we are equal grape jelly opportunity suppliers (egjos, for those of you who like acronyms). though our dedication to grape jelly is – supposedly – for the orioles and house finches, house sparrows and hungry potbellied squirrels are enthusiastic fans. and i mean, who can blame them? they are opportunistic foragers so all’s fair game.
we personally don’t have an issue with sparrows and squirrels eating jelly. we just clean the vessel and refill it as needed. watching from the deck or the patio is a joy and those squirrels – well – they are sooo entertaining with antics that challenge world-class acrobats (all while they are also always keeping an eye out for dogga).
opportunistic foragers take what they can get. if welch’s is on the table, then welch’s it is.
in the last few days, few months, couple of years, we have read numerous articles about the government of this nation – you know, the government of the people, by the people, for the people – eliminating all kinds of regulations that protect the people, protect the people’s land, protect the people’s food, protect the people’s water, protect the people’s healthcare, protect the people’s education, protect the people’s social programs, protect the people’s rights, protect the people’s vote, protect the natural resources and wildlife that is part of the land of the people. and why is that? because – in an innocent google – i came across a term that describes them in a polite way: they are opportunistic foragers. they will take whatever upon which they can get their greedy paws.
“…politicians are widely characterized as opportunistic foragers who navigate their environments by adjusting policies, rhetoric, and alliances to maximize power and secure reelection.” (ai)
not cute like pudgy squirrels or innocent like house sparrows, they are robbing our grape jelly and absolutely everything else we-the-people value. the corruption is rampant, the conscience is absent, the constitutional cornerstone of this country is ripping.
