Swan Sanctuary

Rain is a rare treat in this town; but after the six inches of snow dumped on us in Tuesday’s storm, followed by a cold and cloudy Wednesday and Thursday, it began to rain during the night. It was still raining when I awoke. Today is my favorite kind of day – gloomy, cloudy, and rainy, but not terribly cold. The wind has picked up and showers are expected off and on throughout the day. It is the kind of day that urges me inward, where I find comfort in that place beyond the physical world. I sit, sipping coffee or tea, where I can gaze out the window. I am deeply aware of my many, many blessings in this moment, while thousands are being evacuated from their homes due to devastating fires. In other parts of the world, people are being flooded out of theirs. This, on top of the pandemic, can cause us to either feel immensely afraid, or to feel amazing grace and gratitude. 

Too many things are occurring in our world now, to remain in a state of denial. Global warming is accelerating and ascending upon us like an angry tsunami. It is a time of reckoning, a time to atone for the damage we have done. We cannot sit back and bemoan our personal misfortunes. We cannot rely on our government or politicians, or our neighbors to make things right again. We must all do our part. It is going to take all of us together to set our tipping world upright again.

Looking up into the night sky at the billions of stars, or looking down from an airplane at the billions of people in the sprawling cities, it is clear that individually, we are nothing. We are infinitesimal and  insignificant. We are dispensable. Still, we are alive and breathing in this moment, at this particular point in time, because we each have something to do. What we do alone may seem futile, but collectively, all of our tiny acts of kindness, may save the world.

Our modern society has contributed to a vast number of unhappy and unfulfilled people. Since the dawning of industrialization, true craftsmanship and the art of working with one’s hands, allowing creativity to flow, has been buried beneath false notions of success. We have designed a system by which many fail because it does not honor who they are, but only what they can produce. We have an educational structure that is based on consumerism. Those who are willing to play the game: finish high school and complete a college degree, are not guaranteed a job. They wind up with thousands of dollars in debt for which they must work tirelessly to repay. The long road to their achievement often does not bring them satisfaction. In the end, they may descend  into alcohol and drug addiction or they may end their own life. 

The number of high school dropouts has risen. College is out of the question for many unless we vote in a president who will work to bring down the astronomical costs of a college education, possibly replicating those countries that offer free education for all. The desire to amass millions in the proverbial rush up the ladder is overrated. Most people would be content with a basic good life; but our current methodology is making that impossible for many. 

Last evening I caught a segment on PBS about a school in Charleston, South Carolina. It is the American College of the Building Arts. Upon completion of a degree, they add a “journeymen level of expertise” and their graduates are given 100% job placement. They offer degrees in blacksmithing, carpentry, classical architecture, plaster,  stone carving, and timber framing. Their tuition is 60% less than that of private colleges. I hope we will see more and more of these types of opportunities for high school graduates. Not only is this a way to allow those who prefer to work with their hands and to learn a craft as an apprentice; it opens the door to preserving ancient craftsmanship that might otherwise be lost forever. The opportunities and the needs that can be fulfilled are endless. Having true artisans trained in these areas can help in preserving historic towns across the country. Factory jobs, technology, traditional college, and business, are not for everyone. When we help a young person to find his or her true calling, everyone wins.

We are far more like plants than may at first be seen. The purpose of a plant is first, to grow; then to produce a flower, and finally, to make seeds. If the plant is perennial, it may produce many generations of flowers and seeds. A biennial or an annual has a limited space of time in which to accomplish the same thing. When we are born, pushed out of our mother’s womb, we emerge fragile and vulnerable, just like a tiny plant breaking out of its seed coat. If we are healthy and we have been adequately nourished, we continue to grow bigger and stronger. In time, we reach maturity and we begin to flower into adulthood. We blossom into the person we were born to become. Our purpose may have been something we knew intuitively from a young age, if we were driven to become an artist, a musician, or a dancer. Many of us remain stagnant for a time, like a plant that does not appear on the surface to be growing; but beneath the soil the roots are quite busy getting on with life. Likewise, underneath the armor of our persona, our soul is seeking meaning and the reason for our existence. When we discover who we are and what it is that we love doing, we begin to thrive. For some, this can take many years; but as has been said, it is the journey and not the destination that we need to concern ourselves with. Some people have several shorter vocations, rather than one which lasts a lifetime. Discovering our unique gifts and sharing them with the world gives us a sense of fulfilment and a sense of belonging. Instead of feeling lost in this vast universe, we begin to understand that we are a part of it.

There comes a time in the life of a plant, when the flowers begin to fade and the leaves to die off. In our human flowering, we grow old and our body begins to  show signs of aging. We lose our youthful appearance. It is a time when the seeds of our accumulated wisdom begin to form. The nuggets of knowledge that we have collected can be passed down to the next generation and hopefully, for generations to come. The abundance of seeds produced by plants will simply fall to the ground, or be eaten and transported through the digestive tract of a bird or animal, or carried miles away on a current of wind. Most will never germinate. Only a tiny percentage of the lessons learned in our lifetime will be passed down. But one day, something that a grandmother said to her granddaughter, or advice given from a father to a son, or a line read from an old book, will suddenly come back to life. This is how our seeds carry from one generation to the next.

Those of us who have reached that stage in life when our knowledge and wisdom can be passed down to our children and grandchildren, are given a final opportunity to make a difference. Whether we feel that we have contributed much to life, or bungled every opportunity we had; we still have time to walk a short distance with the generation that will follow in our footsteps. We must guide them carefully, but also know that some will not be receptive to our outstretched hand. They may choose a more difficult path and we must allow them to take it. It is not our responsibility to control where our seeds may fall. 

Wise men and wise women have always been depicted as very old human beings. There is a reason for this. Wisdom comes only through the seeds – not the flowers. Although we have no say as to where our seeds will land, or whether or not they will germinate, we can release them knowing that the cycle of our life is complete.

Summer has come to a screeching halt. Yesterday afternoon I was outside in a tank top doing last minute covering of plants that I am hoping to save for a while longer, and bringing other ones inside. Saturday, the temperature reached 101 degrees fahrenheit. Just three days later, I am looking out at the trees and sunflowers bending over under the weight of heavy snow. It seems that the weather these past months has been like a roller coaster ride. There is nothing average about the weather here. It seems to know only extremes of high and low and hurricane force winds, rather than breezes.

This is no place for a gardener. The moonflower is only just beginning to put forth buds. The cardinal flower only began blooming about a week ago. I am still waiting for watermelon to ripen. Buds on the zinnias were preparing to open for display and the cosmos were just getting going. I have waited all summer long for the pineapple sage to bloom and only yesterday saw the hint of a red bud. The extreme heat of the past month caused the broccoli to send up only spindly heads that immediately went to seed. The beans, except for one, and all of the zucchini, were eaten early on by insects. It also caused the cucumbers to taste bitter. All was not lost; however, as the herbs truly thrived.The alyssum looked so beautiful in yesterday’s late afternoon light, but along with many of the other plants, will be dead when today’s storm has ended. 

 
It is true, I have been working too hard and pushing my body beyond its limits, all in the hope of having my life filled with flowers. I also did it for the wildlife and in that, I was reasonably successful. My garden was a haven for numerous bees and pollinators, but I was disappointed that I saw only a handful of butterflies and far too many of the invasive cabbage whites. The hummingbird visited only a few times. Perhaps she found better fare in someone else’s garden. Another summer is gone. It has reached that time in the season when I must once again chalk up my losses against my successes. Next spring, I will begin with the same fervor, the same hope and optimism as I began this one; and God willing, in a warmer climate with a much longer growing season.

There is more to be said on yesterday’s subject about reusing, repurposing, and recycling. The throw away mentalities that have become prevalent, will no longer work as we face the possibility of economic and cultural collapse. I have recycled for years so my consternation at the town I am living in, for closing down its recycling facility, has not abated. Creativity is often born out of need and I have spent a lifetime coming up with innovative solutions of all kinds in and around my home. I can make even the nastiest places feel homey and inviting without spending a dime. Most times it takes a great deal of scrubbing and cleaning, but the challenges open me up to ideas and the ability to see order through the chaos.The same is true for my outdoor spaces. Creating a design beforehand on paper and then trying to implement it, never works for me. It is usually while I am working in the garden that inspiration alights. Sometimes I just wait, when I am unsure about where a plant should go or what to do with a space. The right answer emerges on its own, once I have let go of trying to solve the problem area.

I am only renting this place for a brief period and I am reluctant to sink much of my own money into it. My landlord clearly does not care to invest anything either, wishing only to collect his monthly rent on it. Unfortunately, this is all too common and quite saddening because so many places are in dire need of TLC. Their dilapidated demeanor is a reflection of the actual neglect, as well as the emotional neglect of the people owning and living in them. I think that places respond to love in the same way that humans and animals do. I have uplifted the aura surrounding this space in which I am living; and that keeps my spirits lifted as well,

One of the challenges I faced was the bathroom window. It would not open because someone had screwed it closed. When I removed the screws, I discovered there was no screen and the window would not close properly, leaving a gap at the top of more than an inch. I had moved in here in January and the cold winds blew fiercely through it. I stuffed foam that I had around the edges and covered it with a towel for the coldest months; but it did little to stop the brisk drafts from coming in. It was frustrating  not being able to open the window when the weather finally warmed, but without a screen, it would have been an open invitation to all kinds of critters. I have a surplus of bubble wrap from things that  have been shipped to me. It takes up room to store it and I am not willing to throw it away, so I used it to seal around the window. It creates privacy and lets in light at the same time. Before the really cold weather arrives, I will cover the outside of the window with more of the bubble wrap, or other plastic, so the wind will not blow it out. A friend had recently given me some screen that he was going to throw away, so if I am still here next summer, I can replace the plastic with the screen – and be able to open the window. Sometimes we have to make do. It is what our ancestors did. It is what we will all do, if we are to survive.

A basic premise of permaculture is to reuse, re-purpose, and recycle those things that we already have. The things in which I have inflicted the most amount of wear and tear, like boots and gardening gloves, are often not salvageable. The three pairs of overalls that I had purchased five or six years ago, apparently had a shelf life; because mid-summer the knees ripped out of all three. They were put into a bag headed for Goodwill; but knowing how difficult it is to find jeans that fit me well and the high price of a single pair of overalls, caused me to retrieve them. There was also the pandemic to consider because many stores were not allowing clothes to be tried on before purchasing, or returned, if they did not fit. Fortunately, one of my granddaughters brought her sewing machine when she visited me, and she helped me to repair the holes in my overalls. I then hand-stitched patches over the repairs so they will get me through the remainder of this gardening season and at least part of the next one. 

I face a greater dilemma with gloves and boots. I began the season with a nice new pair of pigskin gloves, but the thumb now has a big hole in it and the fingers are stiff with dirt. The main part of the gloves are still in good condition. I may try to sew the tear in the thumb, but I doubt my needles are strong enough to sew through leather. Once I find a comfortable pair of boots (or shoes) I hate departing from them. Most will last me three years or longer. This year I had to part with another pair because I had worn holes in the soles from so much digging in the garden. As with the gloves, the upper boots were still fine, but the shoe repairman could not replace the modern rubber soles. My winter UGG boots that I have had for more than fifteen years, are looking simply awful around the toes, with salt and water stains. The lining has become so flattened that they no longer keep my feet warm; but the part between the ankle and the top of the boot looks as good as new. What is one to do? There may be a fine line between hanging onto something because you may find another use for it one day – and hoarding. I believe on one hand, that when you let go of something, you create space for something new to come into your life. They say the universe abhors a vacuum. I think the important lesson here is to carefully consider all options before mindlessly throwing something away. Giving things away, which is essentially recycling, is a good thing because someone may need that very thing which you have released. I have often found things at thrift stores that were absolutely what I wanted or needed at the time. If we let go of the sense of ownership, enjoying, appreciating, and caring for whatever is temporarily in our possession, it lifts the weight of our ego off our shoulders. Everything is temporary. Enjoy what you have today, but be willing to let it go tomorrow. Always ask yourself, “Can it be reused, re-purposed, or recycled?

We may have given little thought to our basic needs before the pandemic arrived. It may not have made much difference which season we found ourselves in, because these needs were met. We had a roof over our ahead and a coat for every type of weather. At the grocery store, we could find watermelon in December or artichokes in September. We had far more than we actually needed of just about everything. Still, there were those who were rarely satisfied. They wanted the bigger home, the more prestigious car, the cruise, the latest Iphone, or the most innovative technological gadget. In short, those things that promised them happiness left them with insatiable emptiness. 

So, dare I say that this pandemic has been a blessing for our world? Has it not caused numerous people to reconsider their priorities? Has it allowed us to appreciate more of the little things? Has it brought us to the realization that one’s home is more than a place to park our stuff? It is a sanctuary and a place of refuge for our soul. Has it impressed upon us that food is more than a precious commodity? It is vital to our very survival. Has it awakened us to the importance of spending not only quality time with loved ones, but as much time as possible? Has it helped us to see our neighbors as ourselves; slightly broken, a little scared, and perhaps just as vulnerable? 

Have you found yourself breathing a sigh of relief because you were finally allowed to step off the treadmill that wound you tighter and tighter, blurring the goal that you had been striving to reach? Did life seem to have suddenly stopped, dropping you down into an unknown land? It has been an opportunity for some, to create a Plan B, to explore the new terrain and head off in an entirely different direction. Others have been swallowed up by fear, paralyzed by the changes that they never saw coming. As the world slowly begins to recover, will you be one of the adventurous ones who knows that being grateful for food, water, and shelter, and sharing when you can, will light the way to something new and better? Or, will you stick your head in the sand, be turned to stone, and seek someone to blame for the inconvenience that has befallen you? The choice is yours.

The chill that was in this morning’s air, from having left some windows open overnight, forced me outside to sit on my front porch that was awash with the warming rays of sunlight. I love that feeling of warmth as it spreads throughout my body, slowly penetrating into my very bones. It is one of those mornings where the remnants of a deep sleep cling to me and I am reluctant to move from the cozy euphoria that keeps me suspended, between sleeping and waking. My two cups of coffee have little effect as I linger in this contemplative state. Often, this is the place where my best writing comes forth. There is no plan already formulated, no ideas or prompts to set the wheels of my mind spinning. I only pick up paper and pen, which begins almost of its own accord, to produce the stream of words appearing before me. 

I began writing poetry when I was in high school. It was an outlet for the onslaught of teenage hormones and emotions that plagued me. My writing has rarely been approached with purpose, but emerges often unannounced and at odd times. Most frustrating, are those instances when I am driving in my truck, or out for a long walk with no paper and no pen at my disposal. Many thoughts and words have alighted like a butterfly; then disappeared forever because I did not get them written down. Inspiration has also come in the dead of night when I was much too tired to move. The words that do get written, may never be read by anyone. They are only words, after all. A surplus of words often goes to waste like too much zucchini, too many tomatoes, or the millions of seeds that will never germinate. It is a game of chance. The order in which our words are arranged can produce understanding in the one listening to or reading them. Or, they can be entirely misconstrued. We all know people who seem to have “diarrhea of the mouth”. They talk incessantly, yet say nothing of importance. But, those things that must be said and need to be heard, often come from the quiet places. My life has been for the most part, a quiet place. From the quiet I listen and observe. When I sit down to write, I am a pathway through which the words can travel. They are generated from a place outside myself, out of reach from the confining ego. They flow through me, carried by an unseen force down the length of my arm and into my pen (or keypad) where they become visible in the physical world. It is not my task to see who reads these words. I know that those who are meant to benefit from them, will find their way to them. Books have been known to practically jump off the shelf, for those people who need to read them. So, I write. Then, I edit. Then, I go outside and garden.