in this moment, in this time, despite all the challenges it has faced, it is facing, it will face, despite all it does not know, it persists – growing in the top rail of the fence that spans the river.
this tiny plant is grabbing on to life. and living it.
on the southern part of the trail, most of the leaves have fallen. we shuffle through them, making that crunchy sound of autumn hikes. we can see further now – further down the trail, deeper into the woods. we can see the river, so often hidden by foliage. our views are unobstructed by earlier thick growth of underbrush and leafy trees.
the golden leaves cling to the willow. the sun catches them and they glow. i am grateful for their color and for this day of technicolor as november begins to push the need for more vitamin d. storm clouds rushed past, hinting at the possibility of pummeling us. yet the sun returned and we hiked on, glad to be out there, grateful to reclaim some air on the trail.
the days are darker now. and it makes me think of the many seasons of alone (the history channel) we have viewed, as moderate weather early in season episodes seemed to morph quickly into unthinkable cold, punishing loneliness, long darkness. we binged on alone during our month plus of covid. and as we hike now, we talk about the ability of the contestants to survive, to sustain. clueless about true survivalist skills, we both know we would likely fail miserably out in the wild – alone.
kielyn – season 7 – was out there for an unbelievable 80 days. a personality full of color, in one episode, she said, “women. we are a force to be reckoned with.”
yes. we are.
and even in the fallout of the fallout of this election, the fallout of the fallout of insane politics and a divided country, the fallout of the fallout of an agenda to kick women (among others) to the ground, we are still a force. she is right.
the lush leaves of spring, summer and early fall blocked what you could see in the woods, past the woods. they blocked long vision.
until they didn’t.
it was in the falling of the leaves on-trail that one could again see. it is in that clearing out, the storm threatening, winter on its way, that one can see further – beyond just existing, beyond just surviving, beyond just sustaining – further – to a place where thriving is an imperative. it is heading into fallow that any bit of color stands out, interrupts the grey.
because we women are out here. and no clearing-out, no storm, no winter will stop us.
long vision is one of the plates we women spin.
we aren’t afraid of a time of fallow.
and we sure aren’t afraid of the dark.
we are a force. you will have to reckon with us.
if the willow has lost all its leaves, we will bring the color.
in so many ways – from up-close-and-personal to nationwide – this is a post of the moment.
“you are magic and not everyone can handle magic. some people are accustomed to mediocre. they run from magic. let them run…” (unknown)
people who have immersed themselves in mediocrity, who are threatened by anything bright with joy, who are afraid to step outside dark dullsville, who cling to their own agendas for power…these people will run from magic. and – i now agree – let them.
for you are not going to change someone’s mind who is a mediocrity-mongrel. he or she will clutch their good-enough expectations and will relish lack of abundant growth – for that is safer for them. they will purport to be interested in ‘the community ‘ – whether that be this nation or a closer-in community – and they will ultimately suffocate it.
magic is out there. it is people giving their all in service to each other. it is gorgeous and limitless. it is a gift. it – in the way that fireworks light up the sky – lights up other people, sparking pilot lights everywhere, spreading excitement in concentric circles wider and wider.
magic is the exhale of joy. it is the call and response of people – dedicated to one another and to thriving.
so in answer to this devotedness to less-than, this rejection of light, this dogged constancy in drudgery, in ugly, this resolve to quash the flourishing of all… i’d just say this:
let them run, those who can’t handle magic, those accustomed to mediocre. let them excise you in their zeal for the mundane. it is likely you will not miss them.
and all the plants live together happily ever after.
it’s a beautiful place to just wander. the walkways through bushes you may have to duck under are not edged or over-weeded. it’s not perfect, yet, in its imperfection, it is perfect.
most of all, the natives and the regional perennials co-exist, nurturing each other simply by existing.
i suppose it might be wise for us to take a few cues from these plants. somehow, they are growing and thriving – side by side – without thwarting the growth and thriving of another. somehow, they are weathering the seasons without resistance, falling into fallow and rising out of the dirt. somehow, they are just being, without overly exuberant displays toward each other, without angsty concern, without aggression. somehow, they are blooming and verdant and glorious, trusting – implicitly – that the next plant will understand, that the next plant will also weave its way in the midst, working together to find the light-space they each need. somehow, they are symbiotic, bringing their best, setting aside differences, instinctively empathic. somehow, they are aware of the precious time they have in the sun.
there is a magazine i look at most every day. it is a simple-magazine publication and features container gardens of all sorts. each time i page through it i see something new, get ideas, wonder about unique re-purposing, changing old typewriters or baskets into succulent planters or large-animal feed scoops or galvanized tubs into fence pots. the photography shows beautiful plants in all seasons of growth and it makes creative juju pick up pace.
we walked slowly through the daniel stowe botanical garden with our daughter and her boyfriend, enjoying every second. the greenhouse was steamy and we got misted as we walked. gorgeous orchids punctuated the tropical plants. we stopped to read information, take pictures, admire textures and the colors that looked like dr seuss had taken crayons to everything.
the monstera deliciosa (or aptly-named swiss cheese plant) captured our attention. nature has a way of making sure that rainwater and dew are properly retained yet the leaves are not perpetuating algae or molds, fungus or disease. amazing. instead, waxy fronds or holey swiss-cheesed leaves let the droplets roll off, keeping them open to sunlight. each plant has its own system for balance, all depending on its ever-changing circumstances.
the day at the garden was over too soon; visiting is like that. there were only a few days and it’s hard to fit months and months of not-seeing into bits and pieces of 72 hours.
i now know why my sweet momma always had lists when i called or visited with her. there were things she wanted to know, needed to know, that she didn’t want to forget to ask. there were tiny and big questions about my daily life she wondered about – the extraordinary and the mundane, my feelings about things happening in the world, curiosities she had about my comings and goings and adventures and challenges and transitions. she just simply wished to hear my stories, have a window into my life. without being too invasive, without crossing the ever-changing-invisible-tightrope-line, she wanted to share in it, be a part of it. i get it.
kc, my bonsai gardenia plant, is difficult, “one of the most loved and challenging plants”. i never know if i am watering her enough or too much, if her brown-edged leaves are due to too much attention or too little attention. she has not had a bloom, though she did have two hopeful buds. she is not easy, but she is beautiful and particular and i am determined. charlie, my heart-leaf philodendron, the other plant that was also a lovely gift from my beloved daughter, is easy. she grows no matter what. she is healthy and thriving. she is green and lush and i can practically see her smiling. charlie is the opposite of kc. treasured plants on our garden table in ever-changing light and seasons as they grow, so much like the diversity of real living, i talk to them every day; i appreciate and adore them. they are lessons.
and it occurs to me that these two beautiful plants, both on the table in our sunroom, are – indeed – the spectrum definition of motherhood, the nature of every single cherished relationship, the easy-hard, the fragile-resilient, the holding-on-letting-go, bursting blooms and foliage or the missing of blooms, the learnings, the balance of unconditional love. perhaps a good addition would be this happy swiss cheese plant, a reminder to let it all roll off and keep on keeping on.
i worry about the ferns. fragile, willowy, tender shoots determinedly growing up from under the pile of leaves waiting, decaying, protecting the garden through fall’s end and winter’s scourge until, finally, spring. and then, there they are. despite it all. back in the northwest corner of the yard, tucked in along the fence line and next to the old garage.
they start slowly, peeking out, and then – voila – they are taller, taller, and unraveling their curly tops, like a modern dancer, curling up one vertebrae at a time, opening and embracing dappled sunlight. without concern for any part of history or future, they just grow. they are perennials, so keeping them healthy – a bit of simple nurture – ensures this fern garden in the back of our yard.
i’ve grown other plants in this yard through the years. ornamental grasses, day lilies, ferns, hosta, a couple peonies, these are the thrivers. purple iris, black-eyed susans, a planted lavender garden all fell to the wayside.
the neighbor’s snow-on-the-mountain, creeping under the fence, devoured the iris. wild mustard gave the black-eyed susans a run. the lavender was taken over by boxwood elder on a rampage.
but the delicate ferns…through dogdog’s puppyhood and now his adulthood…through the drought and maybe too much sun and maybe too much rain…through the late-late springs and the early winters…have survived.
in each of them i see the fortitude of the dancer, practicing unfurling vertebrae by vertebrae, forgetting all else – all negativity, all lack, all the torrential storms – in the tender, rich, vibrant forward-movement of now. full of beautiful.
“there is an entire forest full of the most incredible flowers, plants and trees inside you, and you are ignoring all of it to nurture a single tree that they planted inside your heart and abandoned.
the people who left you this way don’t deserve to become your favourite stories to tell. you are a massive forest full of beautiful and vibrant stories and every single one of them deserves you more than those that abandoned you to hell.”
there was a jaguar suv parked in one of the bays when we went to pick up littlebabyscion at the shop. it was shiny black and had an aura of extravagance. i joked as we walked in that it was “practically identical” to our little xb. our beloved – and stellar – mechanic laughed and said, “nah! it’s just ridiculously expensive! fancy doesn’t make it better.” because this society assigns value to things that cost more, i probed a little further, comparing our very-basic vehicle to this one, and he answered, “the reason people buy these – and many other vehicles like it – is for other people to see them driving it. it says ‘i am successful’ to the world.” i laughed and rolled my eyes, joking about the level of success us driving our scion speaks to and he replied, “nope. doesn’t matter.”
“…only about 0.000002% of musicians become ‘successful’.” (one of many statistics found when googling the rate of success for musicians.)
now that is a bracing statistic. it would suggest that there are a heck of a lot of musicians out there – including me – driving un-fancy vehicles with odometers pushing 300,000 miles. it would suggest, too, that there are a lot of musicians out there whose egos are not benefitting from the sideshow and stroke of other people’s ‘that-person-is-successful’ thinking.
the prosperous is evasive. the profitable is of-the-past now that streaming is the preferred mode of listening over purchasing cds or even paying for downloads. the booming has slumped. the fruitful is fallow, often barren, depending on levels of frustration over thinking you should have been a financial analyst, software engineer or investment broker. and the thriving? well, that’s another story.
thriving is growth and growth rays out from the center in an artist. up against a challenge, we seek a different route, a different way. it is not our nature to give up, though an independent artist’s odds of success are clearly stacked. we simply “cannot imagine leaving”. (todd skinner)
instead, we channel the creative energy that keeps stoking up, that keeps us going. we funnel it out into threads of let’s-try-this or let’s-learn-that. when we can’t perform, we play. when we can’t play, we compose. when we can’t compose, we write. we find rivers we can enter and we wade in. we take risks.
in recent days i have come to realize that i still have much to learn…much growing to embrace. there are always more questions than answers. creativity whispers, “do not limit your future by basing it on the past, projecting what you can do based on what you have done. your goal is to be not just better than you were, but as good as you can ultimately become.” (todd skinner)
true in every arena of life…artistry, physicality, emotional health, motherhood, in community. much to learn. always. thriving.
it’s a mystery how it all will turn out. how, in the end, we will be seen. whether we will be prosperous or have a profitable life. if we will have boomed or been fruitful. whether we will have driven a fancy-car, a workhorse old truck or a steadfast littlebabyscion and what that all means to the world watching.
what will really matter – to us artists, adapting in ever-changing light and in each season – is if we thrived.
reverse threading 