Swan Sanctuary

I am re-reading Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer; which I suspect will become a timeless classic. It is filled with profound wisdom that would appear inconceivable to most people today. She shares in the book the “Honorable Harvest,” the respectful and appropriate means by which indigenous peoples used the gifts that Earth had provided for them. She says that through “practical reverence” we can become responsible stewards of non-human species. By enacting reciprocity through giving back, by never taking more than half, by taking only what is given, and by remembering to say “thank you,” we ensure our continuous supply. 

There no longer seems to be a moral compass guiding our actions. The motivation of most people is deep desire, want, and longing; and a false belief that they never have quite enough. We live in a lavish, abundant universe; but because rarely do we respect, appreciate, share, or give thanks for what we have, that abundance is elusive to many. We often take more than we need. We even take that which is not given. We cling to and hoard what we believe to be ours alone, out of fear of not having enough. We waste profusely and treat what we have disrespectfully. The momentary happiness from having acquired some coveted thing, soon disappears. What remains is an unquenchable desire for still more. Any joy that was believed to have been found in the acquisition of something, cannot be found, because joy wells up spontaneously from within whenever we are giving rather than taking. 

Is this not the key to a happy life? It is in the giving away that we gain the most. The more we give, the more we have. The less we give, the less we have. If we begin each day in gratitude, expectant and knowing that our needs will be sufficiently provided for, we open ourselves to  miracles, both small and large. If we begin each day asking ourselves how we might give back to life rather than asking what we might get from it, we allow for unbidden joy to surface. This is reverence, practical, sacred, sustainable.

One of the things that I love most about summer is a good rainstorm. I love to listen to the thunder. I love the sound of rain – the pitter patter against the window pane. I love the fresh smell of recently washed air. I love the way my garden responds, as plants that had been languishing in the heat, suddenly perk up and the green becomes greener. Often, the rainstorms are followed by rainbows. 

Yesterday I was able to enjoy three rainstorms. I had driven 30 miles to do some grocery shopping and as I pulled into the parking space at the supermarket, a dark cloud opened up and a deluge of rain burst forth. I had forgotten my umbrella, so I simply sat in my car for the duration, which was just over 30 minutes. I watched as people ran to and from their cars, knowing that for most of them the rain was an inconvenience. Later, on my drive home, I went through another rainstorm and after arriving home, yet another. I miss the long, soaking rains of the southeast. Now I must be content with the short lived rains here in this semi-arid climate. I think it is sad that so many people spend almost the entirety of their lives indoors, insulated from the natural world and from the rain.

I am grateful. I am grateful that I can spend several hours a day nurturing plants, coaxing vines and flowers into colorful displays and caring for vegetables that will in turn care for me. When I work in my garden it is a win-win situation of giving, taking, and giving back again. Rain is more than a gift. It is water in one of its purest forms and every living thing is made up of water. We are essentially water, too. Summer rain reminds me of just how precious water is and how precious is this thing called life.

My battle with Convolvulus sepium (better known as bindweed) is one that I will probably never win. And, like so many people, I will not resort to chemical warfare because unlike them, I know that it will never be completely eradicated. It is in the same family as the morning glory, but lacking any degree of propriety in the garden. It grows overnight and I suspect, by day as well, never slowing its reign of terror. It loves to grow next to sidewalks and brick buildings where it is difficult to grab hold of. It can completely cover a chain link fence in only a matter of days. It camouflages itself, changing color and leaf shape to impersonate other plants and make itself less noticeable. It slithers up beside your garden plants only to strangle them while using them for support. It sends out a dozen or more winding tendrils from a single root, to out compete not only other plants, but also each other. It grows from its millions of roots underground that descend over 20 feet. It grows from pieces of the root and seeds from its innocent looking white to pinkish flower. If not kept in check, it can smother a garden in no time at all.

Laying down thick layers of cardboard and mulch, as I have done, only suppresses it for a short time. It soon finds ways to emerge from any space left uncovered. It will even grow through the layers of cardboard once it has begun to break down. Landscape fabric, which is often used, never stops it for long. When the fabric is lifted, a thick mass of its roots lie just beneath it. In time, it grows through the fabric as well. Bindweed is in no uncertain terms, tenacious; but so am I. 

After returning home from the garden center the other day and setting down my newly purchased butterfly bushes, I noticed a bindweed vine that I had missed pulling earlier in the day. I immediately pulled it. And then, I saw another. And another after that and another… twenty or thirty minutes later, after having pulled numerous bindweed vines, I finally went inside. The garden that I started only a couple of months ago is slowly beginning to flourish. I will not allow convolvulus to destroy what I have spent endless hours, too much energy, and far too much money creating. I know the only way that I can win this battle is through diligence and persistence. In a couple of years when my perennial plants are established, when they have grown bigger and stronger, and  less vulnerable to the evil vine that threatens them, my vigilance will pay off.  I will keep pulling up bindweed  and I will win. 

A few years ago, I spent the 4th of July with a friend who had suffered grievous injuries while he was a soldier in Vietnam. He had been exposed to Agent Orange and watched for the remainder of his life, his fingers disintegrating. Orange was an herbicide that the military used to kill the thick tangle of forest, in order to reveal where “the enemy” was hiding. This friend also suffered from PTSD as do many soldiers returning from war. Civilians, too, who have escaped and lived through heavy bombing in war torn countries, live in constant terror from their vivid memories.

Last night I had to endure hours of loud fireworks which were supposed to have been at least two blocks away, but sounded as though they were directly below my bedroom window. Last summer, while living in a town that allowed fireworks, the booms that were set off in the street, just outside our front door, shook the house. Even in those cities and towns where fireworks are illegal, it does not stop the millions of people for whom they are an “amusement.” Human beings have a seemingly insatiable desire to find things to do that they think are fun, regardless of the monetary cost and with complete disregard for their neighbors, their pets, and wildlife. 

With the heat waves and wildfires being brought about by global warming, I do not understand why so many people still choose to participate in this dangerous tradition. They are deaf to the noise pollution, blind to the suffering it causes, and ambivalent about whether or not their actions are causing harm to others or to the planet. I was surprised that the chief of police in this town had posted a reminder to the locals, that setting off fireworks in town was illegal. He reminded them to be in compliance “out of respect for our war veterans.” While fireworks are not legal in the town, they are unfortunately legal in the county. Based on the noise that has been going on for several days leading up to the 4th, and even today while I worked in my garden, not  many people paid attention to his plea. Respect, it seems, has gone entirely out of fashion.