The world is on fire: right now the Western U.S, Canada, Italy, Turkey, Greece. Where else? It’s possible that Finland is still burning, that the fires of Siberia continue to smother the North Pole with wildfire smoke not seen there, in recorded history, until now. While wildfires burn, ice and frozen ground melts. We cannot be sure, as temperatures continue to climb, that the Arctic tundra will remain permanently frozen year round. And now the air currents over the Atlantic Ocean, including the Gulf Stream, may be shutting down. As these events unfold, it is increasingly difficult to see them as isolated or to deny that we are experiencing their cascading, destabilizing effects in our own backyards.
It can feel almost unbearable to witness at times. Heavy.
So I take a deep breath, exhale, and do it again, each breath a form of resistance to the despair pushing to take residence in my heart. Breathing in: I am here. Breathing out: I am still here. Breathing in: The despair will not crush me. Breathing out: I will not abandon myself.
I take this resistance with me to the park where I find that you, my community, have brought me hope and joy. I see it in your children, smiles so radiant and pure they must contain the same powerful light that shines on us from even the most distant reaches of the universe. I see it in the way you kneel together under the low hanging branches of the cottonwood tree, tugging the blackberry canes nestled there as gently as your heads bow together in the task. I feel it when we gather to see the garter snake you found in the mulch pile and transported to our restoration area by wheel barrow, when we find our snake relation in your gentle pour of wood chips and watch their forked tongue slip from tiny mouth as they seek refuge in the small woody debris once again. I see hope and joy in the diligence with which you work: filling wheel barrel after wheel barrel of mulch with such good cheer and digging blackberry and knotweed with such forbearance, despite the heat, despite the pandemic, despite climate collapse, despite the challenges that surely touch your lives outside this space. Despite everything, you have shown up for me, for our community, for our watershed.
You are hope and joy. I am in awe of and inspired by you. I needed to be with you to see that I am hope and joy, too.
Thank you. For your gifts. For you.
July 11 2021 Work Party
A small wheelbarrow doing big work. An overheard conversation and the pleasure of connection witnessed. A candidate rolling up her sleeves. A story unfolding within the larger unfolding of the universe.
Community. Reciprocity. Gratitude. Love.
Thank you.
November 12 2020 Work Party
One of us tends to a tree by unearthing the Himalayan blackberry root balls that have snuggled under its base. She follows the root balls to their smallest ends, untangling roots like filaments from the soil, excavating them with the care of an archeologist preserving what has been found. To watch her is to see love in action.
One of us sings with the unbridled beauty and joy of the birds she calls by name, all of them family to her. To gather with her and her dear human family with purpose during this time, to hear her voice across the field as we work is to be held in the warmth of true community.
One by one we arrived to do work that adds up to much more than we could have achieved alone.
This is everything, and I am grateful.
October 24 2020 Work Party
Sometimes I wish we could be there together, tending to place, healing wounds, connecting to the earth and to each other, forever. We are in my heart.
A sincere thank you to all who came to help me build the kind of world I want to live in. You are all so needed. And so appreciated.
Until next time. Love and grace, my friends.
October 10 2020 Work Party
We unearthed root balls bigger than child-sized heads, bigger than my fist, not quite as big as my foot. In these root balls we saw brains and hearts and arteries and capillaries. We honored these roots even as we removed them from the earth, embracing it all. We were defenders of place, habitat, native ecosystems, and humankind.
And then there was thunder, lightning, rain, and hail. If you stood still for just a moment, hail bouncing, rain pouring down, you might have deeply felt our inextricable connection to the earth and everyone and everything on it.
It was good.
September 20 2020 Work Party
September 5 2020 Work Party
We admired the tenacity of the Himalayan blackberry as a species and its multiple reproductive strategies. We marveled at the beauty of roots working so hard, curling and twisting and winding, to seek light despite six inches of cardboard and mulch to suppress them. We devised strategies to remove prickly canes without falling victim to sharp thorns, and we did the math that told us that we had found a cane that was the length of 5,000 sisters head to foot if she were to lie down next to it. We stood six feet from one another and realized that was close enough to feel the warm presence of a friend. And we gathered evidence that tiny groups of people working together toward the same goal can, indeed, create mighty change.
Thank you all, for everything.