a way in

Yesterday we went to the city to walk. Portland is a river city and we love walking the length of it, crossing and recrossing the river on the many bridges. Going anywhere by foot changes your view of a place, takes you into a sensory experience far different than rolling by enclosed in a car. We intended to stay near the waterfront, which is a pedestrian-friendly, beautiful space that attracts joggers and strollers, but when we got there I found I wanted to go deeper into the downtown core. The last few nights have been violent there, fire and anger; I wanted to see the aftermath for myself. The city already feels surreal, stripped of its business people and tourists by the pandemic. Those who remain are the ones who have nowhere else to go. We passed tents and camps, street preachers and ravers, a woman lost in some kind of trance, dancing herself free of her clothes, countless sleeping bodies slumped against walls or stretched out in doorways. Grafitti was everywhere, the same few messages repeated over and over: “I can’t breathe.” “F*** the cops.” We passed a couple of police officers, walking slowly, heads down in conversation, each with an unconscious hand over their holstered guns. Men in hard hats were pulling broken glass from windows, replacing it with sheets of plywood. No one was smiling, no one was making eye contact. There was a palpable grief in the air. I found myself unconsciously placing my hands at my heart in the Anjali mudra (prayer position), breathing deep, exhaling a prayer of peace into the streets as we walked them. I live so far from those streets, in every way, but these are all my neighbors, every one, and I wanted to join them somehow, in some small way.

I’m not suggesting there’s anything noble in walking nearly-empty streets in the aftermath of the struggle, I’m only saying I live far from so much of the collective pain in our world and I need a way in. I need to pinch my flesh, wake it up, quit thinking that my life is the status quo instead of the privileged exception. (Honestly, I feel like curling up in the fetal position and plugging my ears until it’s over, but that, too is a privilege not granted to my neighbors.)

For those of you who are feeling the same, a few links:

~ Want a reminder to connect? Helen shares her heart.

~ Want to do more than post social media memes and outrage? Mireille Cassandra’s 10 Steps to Non-Optical Allyship

~ Want to do something? Colin Kaepernick has been leading with non-violent and effective protest for years now. He holds camps to train young Black and Brown people to do the same and to be safe in interactions with police. Consider supporting his work.

Or take a look at Campaign Zero.

~ Want to understand? Ibram X Kendi’s work is well worth the time.

“Americans have long been trained to see the deficiencies of people rather than policy. It's a pretty easy mistake to make: People are in our faces. Policies are distant. We are particularly poor at seeing the policies lurking behind the struggles of people.”

Love to you, my friends. This is heavy work, life-time work, so be gentle as you go. Breathe, pray, turn off the hourly updates, connect with real people, remember small changes are vital too. xoxo

May Day

May 1st is one of my favorite days. Not only is it the beginning of the most beautiful month here at Fernwood (thanks to the former owner who planted for spring) but it’s also my husband’s birthday and May Day/Beltane. So many lovely things to celebrate all packed into one day!

“Now is the moment to flourish and thrive: to open our hearts and welcome meaningful connection with nature and with each other, and to revel in the joys and blessings of being alive in this beautiful world. It's no easy task at such a difficult and uncertain time, but if anything the spirit of Beltane is an important reminder to seek and offer support wherever we can, and to find beauty and contentment in the simplest of things.” ~ from the Folk + Field newsletter  

I have plans to gather some hawthorn branches and make some bouquets, plant some potatoes and sunflower seeds, and of course there will be a special birthday meal, and if the weather holds, our first outdoor fire. I find these little rituals so helpful in transitioning to a new season. (And we are on the cusp of more than just summer as we begin to enter a new phase with the pandemic. It feels more important than ever to ground and center, doesn’t it?)

Here at home I am leaning into some new writing rhythms that are working well and I have a head full of ideas. I just need more time (and er…discipline) to translate them to the page, but it’s hard to be disciplined when Mama Earth is being so beautiful and showy right now! I’ve learned though, that creative work is not just about the number of hours you force yourself to work but the amount of time you open yourself to life, to allowing the beautiful and the difficult things to work on your spirit and sharpen your senses. We live in a time of striving for notice and a certain type of accomplishment, but there is a lovely synergy and freedom that happens when you let that go and spend that striving time caring for your soul instead.

My Beltane prayer for you:

Peace to your heart.

Peace to your mind.

Peace in the letting go.

Peace in the receiving.

Peace in the being, just as you are.

Just as you are.

Peace, peace, peace to your soul.

<3

I’ll leave you with these little glimpses of home:

on my work desk.

dreaming of next spring….

daily harvest

kale magic

patience….

rewarded.

Oh my Heart. <3<3<3

Happy May Day, my friends.

So much love.

tonia

the holy hum

This year, Earth Day and the New Moon are riding close to one another, which seems fitting. We are now, more than ever, aware of the Earth’s call, but the New Moon phase echoes the darkness we feel as well. A New Moon phase is something like walking a familiar forest path at midnight: the darkness teases out sounds, experiences, and emotions we were unaware of when we traveled the path in the light of day. It’s a time to step tenderly but purposefully until we can see our way clearly again. We may feel things we didn’t expect, we may be frightened, or exhilarated, perhaps both at the same time.

It’s been nice to talk with some of you this week about this muddle of emotions, the pull we feel towards change, even the confusion we have about what to do next. No one knows the way. We are all children of the Earth born into the Machine-gods’ realm. How do we learn the language of our birthright again? How do we learn the steps that bring us into the dance?

Wendell Berry offers these thoughts in his essay, People, Land, and Community:

“…as [the mud daubers] trowel mud into their nest walls, [they] hum to it, or at it, communicating a vibration that makes it easier to work, thus mastering their material by a kind of song. Perhaps the hum of the mud dauber only activates that anciently perceived likeness between all creatures and the earth of which they are made. For as common wisdom holds, like speaks to like.”

What if the longing so many of us currently feel for change, the buzz in our chests that disturbs our peace with the status quo, is not a sense of dread, but the holy hum of our true home singing to us, like calling to like, pleading us back into our intended harmony? What if what we feel is the longing of Creation to bring us back?

Only beware…

“In a society addicted to facts and figures, anyone trying to speak for… harmony is inviting trouble. The first trouble is in trying to say what harmony is. It cannot be reduced to facts or figures - though the lack of it can. It is not very visibly a function.”

Part of the problem, Berry says, is that the things that are destructive to our world are systems that are easily explained and backed by information. Even though they make their gains by the oppression of ”nature, people, and culture”, they are surrounded by scientific reasoning and a sense of inevitability. A harmonic system, however, is not so easily explained.

“…it involves an order that in both magnitude and complexity is ultimately incomprehensible.”

Is it any wonder we are confused about what to do now? Our birthright is coherence with a complex system of mutual beneficence, wholeness, and health, yet we have only been taught the rhythms of dissonance. We are born into a system built on competition, where each decision, each tool used, has a logic that makes sense only on its own and takes into consideration only its own profit and success.

“Land, work, people, and community are all comprehended in the idea of culture. These connections cannot be understood or described by information - so many resources to be transformed by so many workers into so many products for so many consumers - because they are not quantitative. We can understand them only after we acknowledge that they should be harmonious…that a culture must be either shapely and saving or shapeless and destructive. To presume to describe land, work, people, and community by information, by quantities, seems invariably to throw them into competition with one another. Work is then understood to exploit the land, the people to exploit their work, the community to exploit its people. And then, instead of land, work, people, and community, we have the industrial categories of resources, labor, management, consumers, and government. We have exchanged harmony for an interminable fuss, and the work of culture for the timed and harried labor of an industrial economy.”

I fear the Problem of the Industrial Economy is only going to be solved by its inevitable collapse, but that’s not what I’m thinking about today. I’m thinking about how those of us who hear the hum can live in resonance with it (which is naturally in opposition to and in defiance of the Problem.) Last week a friend shared her happiness that with this unusual home-time she has been able to do so many things that she has wanted to do in terms of sustainable living, but she also feels a sense of dread knowing she won’t be able to maintain it when she returns to work. I understand that fully, and I want to offer more today than just an emotional invitation to join an inexplicable rhythm. I believe one reason we fail in these things is that we often take other people’s solutions and try to paste them onto our own lives. What we need is to understand our own place, our own resources, our own abilities. None of us alive now will completely escape the messy realities of our systems. We will have to compromise. We will create waste. We will have to decide which levels of exploitation we can live with. Our answers will not be easily explained or categorized, and they will not be universally applicable. We can only respond to our own situations with attentiveness and love. The important thing to remember is that we can respond.

Here are some ways to think, and some places to begin. I think they are accessible to most, if not all, of us.

Banner from The Far Woods, a couple of local artists whose Work I love.

• We can simplify our diets to take advantage of our particular resources. It isn’t hard to learn what the farmers in our own regions are growing. Then a plan can be put in place to support them on whatever scale we can manage, from roadside stands to Farmer’s Markets, to u-picks, to bulk orders, to CSA’s, to looking for their produce in the regular grocery store.

• We can examine our use of transportation to find the most energy-efficient and community-supportive means for us. It needn’t be all or nothing. Here at home, we cannot walk or ride straight from the house due to dangerous roads, so we drive to a parking lot a mile away and walk or ride from there when we can. My husband commutes to the city with an electric car and a bus pass. It’s not perfect, it’s what we can do.

• We can turn off lights, turn down the heat, turn off screens, dry the clothes on a rack. At least sometimes. And that’s a start.

• We can make our homes centers of production rather than centers of consumption. We can make birthday cards or poems or a loaf of bread or a pair of pants instead of paying others to do it for us every time.

• We can support the land by community clean-ups, voting against exploitative laws and businesses, and asking businesses we have relationships with to use more sustainable means and methods.

• We can reduce our reliance on convenience products by simplifying our wants. We can learn to snack on foods that don’t come in packages or boxes. We can take coffee and a water bottle from home. We can get out of the mindset that we deserve constant treats and make those things special and rare again.

• We can make our spaces safe for pollinators and other creatures by refusing to use pesticides. We can grow flowers to feed them and food for ourselves, even if it is a single pot on the front step.

• We can stop making so many online purchases. We can shop our local stores first and nurture a willingness to accept what is available to us rather than searching endlessly for the ideal product. By buying from a local store we can save local businesses, fossil fuels and trees, we can reduce plastic pollution, air pollution, and waste, wear and tear on the roadways from truck transportation, and our addiction to immediate gratification.

• We can choose tools that are fit for our tasks and not disruptive of the natural order. A good broom, a mop bucket. Fountain pens over disposable pens (this is on my list to conquer!), cloth bags instead of plastic or paper, a good knife instead of a plethora of one-use gadgets, a pot of mint instead of a box of mint tea bags, a healthy lifestyle instead of a cabinet of pills.

• We can hold simpler events. We can break up with Pinterest and decorate for these with natural and found items, make cooking and washing dishes part of the affair instead of relying on disposables, eschew favors and gifts that add to clutter, exchange gifts of pre-loved items and made things.

• We can make peace with our faces and our hair and simplify our beauty products. A healthy diet and water are the best path to pretty skin and hair. Apple cider vinegar and baking soda can do a surprising number of jobs. We can keep the things we really want to keep (for me it’s cruelty-free mascara, lipstick, and a touch of powder when I go out) and let the rest go. We can stop worrying about trends and find a simple, classic haircut that is easy to maintain.

• We can understand the true cost of the things we consume. Cheap chocolate is paid for on the backs of exploited people. The true cost of fairly-traded chocolate is expensive. The answer is to eat less, not buy cheaper. In the same way, budget meat is paid for by animals who suffer horrible lives and deaths, people who work in hellish conditions to butcher them, the land which is drained of fertility and poisoned, and government subsidies that promote it all. The electricity in my area is powered by dams that alter the rivers and damage endangered salmon populations and disrupt the rhythms of Native cultures. When we understand the actual price of what we are consuming so thoughtlessly, it can help us make better choices.

• We can commit to going outside and learning the hum of our own place. The Earth wants to teach us her ways. We can watch the birds build and take advantage of the seasons, which teaches us what we can be doing at the same times; we can learn the weeds that grow in the sidewalk cracks and use many of them for nourishing teas or addition to our meals; we can re-learn how to handle changing temperatures and the feel of the weather on our skin. The more we listen and watch, the more discoveries we make, the more the rhythms become our own.

• We can take inventory of our lives and time. Instead of feeling overwhelmed, we can choose one area at a time and ask ourselves how we could step out of the consumption cycle in our particular situations. We can make slow changes and take pleasure and pride in them.

I’m sure you have more and wiser things you could add to this list, but I offer this as a place to start.

This invitation to the holy hum is for all of us. It is not exclusive, it is not just for those who have time or money or health or off-grid cabins in the wilderness. It’s for all of us to join, in the ways we can. The more of us who do, the more we share, the louder the hum.

Happy Earth Day, my friends. <3

initiation

Rode my Bike to get a few Groceries (and flowers) last week.

Hello friends,

It’s week 3 of isolation here and it seems like we’re in a new rhythm. Maybe we’ve worked through all the snarky first days of inhabiting the same space and trying to figure out how to honor each other’s fears (masks or no masks? Wipe down the groceries? Leave the mail on the back porch for two days? Weekly or bi-weekly grocery trips? Who ate all the nuts?) or maybe it’s the week of sunshine coinciding with the time to plant the garden which provides the feeling that we are doing something worthwhile with our time. Whatever it is, we seem to be less anxious and laughing more, which is a relief.

I read a short piece by Martin Shaw yesterday about whether or not this time in history is an initiation - a word I understand to mean a ceremony or event that ushers us into a new phase of life. Shaw made the point that if it is, our initiation has been organized by the Earth herself, and that is something worth pausing over. (i.e. It’s time to grow up, humankind.)

Whether or not it’s a global initiation (and I’ve big doubts about the receptiveness to such an initation for certain parts of the population) I’ve got my list of ways I want to mature, many of them around respecting the resources we use and creating a more community-centric sufficiency. (My friend Lesley asked recently what it would be like if we acted as though we lived in a small village that provided all our needs?) I already tend towards being a chipmunk and keep a well-stocked pantry (or larder, as the Brits say) at all times, but now our conversations have turned to the next level. Could we grow greens in cold frames? Harvest and freeze a year’s worth of berries and fruit from local farmers? Would it be possible to reduce our dependency on the grocery store by 50%? Install a rain-catch system? Only have toilet paper for guests? (Bidets are on the list of things to explore.) Things we’ve talked about in theory for years suddenly seem possible, doable, and even necessary.

In some ways, being forced to stay at home, dealing with the sudden disruptions in buying and consuming, is just what I’ve needed to push me forward.* I’ve spent a lot of time sitting outside just watching my world, suddenly aware of its tremendous abundance. (Consider the lilies of the field, they neither toil nor spin: a quiet cure for the panic I felt when the store was empty of so many things and I realized my survival skills are basically zero.)

Right at the beginning of this strange time, I signed up for an introductory course on Honeybees as a way to keep busy and distract myself from my fears. Our teacher shared the most beautiful quote at our last class:

“Every single bee relates to the other, and works for the whole of the hive. All is shared. All that is brought into the hive - nectar, pollen, propolis, water, is for the good of all.”

~ Heidi Herrmann

That spoke right to my home-keeping heart. “For the good of all.” I feel the invitation to make that a life’s goal and cause. Whatever comes into or goes out of my home, I want it to be nourishing for the whole community, from the Earth herself to the neighbor furthest down the supply chain.

In his article, Martin Shaw says,

“…if the initiatory experience doesn’t in the end become a gift to others, then it’s malfunctioned. Look for largesse. Look for gallantry…”

It would be lovely to emerge from this time with a feeling that it has not been wasted, wouldn’t it? That we’ve decided to make a better world.

I’d so love to hear what this time is speaking to you. Does the idea of initiation resonate with you? In what ways?

I hope you’ll share.

Thanks for always being here in this little community. I appreciate you so much.

pax,

tonia

A couple of links that have been meaningful to me this week:

Hearth: A Thesaurus of Home by Jay Griffiths. A four-piece meditation on what home means from a few years back.

Creatures of Place A short film about a family living a “radically simple permaculture life” on a 1/4 acre lot in Australia.

*I fully recognize the privilege and luxury of my position. Just trying to do the best with what life is giving me. <3

rattle

The tribal gods are rattling the skies.

The prophets of Mammon foretell the demise of the economy without a human sacrifice; the god of Fear extends the hours of the gun shop, weaves a fantasy-world of strength. Who do you worship? asks a famous preacher on the screen. Yes, who? Who, who? I ask myself.

In the woods, a pair of Owls talks through the night. In the morning, I step out the door and feel the nearness of some other Presence. I take the path to the pasture hoping it is the Deer returned with the soft-eyed Fawn whose legs have already grown long. Deer are the messengers of God, they always come when I am aching for comfort. I don’t know how to endure these days without longing to shed my skin and join the leaf litter, Fir needle, cast-off shell of a Hazelnut, lost feather, bird song, purr of Owl-conversation.

But up on the pasture, it is a trio of Coyotes who wait, panting hungry around the Duck house. Somewhere the gods laugh and the Owls hush. I can hear the Ducks locked inside their house, the morning shake of their feathers, the murmur of anticipation as they hear my footsteps, oblivious to what stalks them outside. Last week we lost the oldest of the flock, a black and white Drake, stubborn and mean. I thought he’d wandered off alone, ended his old age under the Junipers, but now I see I was wrong. The Coyotes and I regard each other and one takes off for the woods. The other two remain. I watch, afraid to move lest I send them running after their companion. The largest one and I lock eyes and I see she will break before I do; she is so full of knowing. She is a beautiful creature, golden and brown, her narrow face intelligent and wary. I grant her safe passage with a nod of my head and the two of them escape into the safety of the woods. Later, I will walk in the woods myself, our shared domain.

Rattle away gods of my past, I have forgotten how to fear you.

The next day, the Deer are waiting. How much more beautiful they are now, how patiently they come. They bend their tender necks to the grass. Their sentinel ears test the morning air.

Notes:

**The Chinook people, on whose land I now live, called the Coyote Talapus and saw him as a complicated figure, part trickster, part transformer. I found it interesting that in modern Coyote stories told by Oregon Indian communities “his chief function seems to be to satirize and "hold off" the encroachments of Anglo culture.”

**Joy Harjo’s poem, Grace.