earth
Have I told you about the day I stopped seeing Land as a thing?
I was contemplating the energy and money of putting in a garden in the yard of the apartment was renting.
“I don’t want to put all this effort into improving the property value and then leave.” I thought.
We’ve made the most out of our rental but the landlord puts in minimal effort, treating the space as a revenue stream rather than an opportunity to provide a home for other people. Our apartment has broken mounts in the walls, a few window latches don’t work, the closet doors are missing, and the light in my bedroom has never not flickered like an ominous omen in a horror movie (to name just a few of the corners cut).
I didn’t want him to reap the rewards of my labor!
Then I took a class that taught me all about soil health.
And another class about seed saving in which the astounding, mystical nature of seeds was revealed to me.
Then I took another class about wild pollinators.
During the break, we were told to go outside and look at the world through the eyes of pollinators.
What did we notice?
Where did we see them congregating?
What hypotheses might we infer from our observations?
I walked the grounds and was struck by just how many colors were right there outside our doors. Rich and muted purples, coral pinks and blush pinks, sunset oranges, and powdery blues.
Then there was the infinite variety of shapes and sizes. Delicate snow white blossoms low to the ground, shaded beneath hot pink, trumpet-shaped clusters of Valerian flowers.
Then there were the tiered elevations of nourishment that created a vertically layered vertical landscape. Towering over my head at probably eight feet there were both the spiny, indigo explosions of petals that topped the artichoke plants flowers and the brilliant, gold faces of sunflowers. Reaching up up up, all the way into the bows of the Maples and Oaks above.
When I stopped to focus on the traffic and economy of pollinators I noticed a metropolis of species - three different kinds of butterflies, several different kinds of bees, flies, moths, and two hummingbirds chased each other through the stalks and stems like miniature, jeweled, Formula 1 drivers. It was easy to imagine myself shrunken down to the size of a Bee, zooming around in a hover craft in a futuristic, organic city scape.
A week or two later on a trip up north, I stopped by my mother’s grave to visit her memory. I’m only there a few times a year and my attention has always revolved around the head stones and the people whose names are chiseled into the enduring granite place markers.
This time however, I looked out over the peaceful plots to the field of grass beyond the chain link fence that marks the border of the graveyard. The blades were tall and would have tickled my hips had I walked through it. I noticed for the first time that it swayed with a subtle array of blossoms. Queen Anne’s Lace. Dandelions. Poppies. Clover. Thistles.
Instead of seeing weeds I saw a feast.
I imagined all the bees and butterflies who had visited that day and would return tomorrow.
That one idea - to see the world through the eyes of a pollinator - has forever changed the way I see. Not just in urban areas but also in rural country. When I see green lawns or huge golden fields of grazing grasses, I also see a food dessert for the small creatures that are the lifeblood of all of our aliveness.
After that class I began to see the yard around my apartment building not as a thing owned by someone, but as the exposed skin I have access to that belongs to a creature I adore. An entity. A Being. A someone I deeply love and belong to.
It stopped being a story of property value and became a story of kinship.
How can I show up for this small patch of earth and leave it more whole than when I found it?
Can I make it a safer, more nurturing space for myself and the others who live here and call it home?
Yes, my heart whispered. Yes!
For these land mates of mine - the Bunnies, Hummingbirds, Butterflies, House Sparrows, Worms, Squirrels, Bees, Spiders, Humans, Flies, Juncos, Crows, Moths, and others who are more private in their daily movements - this isn’t a rental they will move on from in a year or two.
This is their home. Their forever home. Where they were born, will live, have offspring, and eventually die.
If I choose to, I get to be part of making it better.
It may improve the property value. So be it.
It may make it a prettier, nicer place for the next tenants, which is arguably a good thing but neither here not there.
I can touch this Earth with my hands.
Feel the temperature and moisture of her body.
I can give to her what other’s are not.
I can divest from the delusion that a mere human can truly own anything as immortal as Land.
I can see her for what she is - Home. Belonging. Spiritual purpose.
Something eternal and entirely independent of me and yet still hosting my existence and holding my life in her hands.
I love the feeling of being dwarfed by the colossus that is our Home.
It’s so rich and fascinating to be a part in her shifting patterns, seasons, and systems rather than pretending to exist outside or above them.
When people talk about environmental conservation like it is a special interest topic, it’s always baffled me.
Why do people care so much about it? Because we live here.
It is the only earth we’ve got. It is a devastatingly exquisite one. And it is more than abundant for everything we could ever need.
If we knowingly squander this one, then we do not deserve another.
When you take a step back, it’s rather insane this false doctrine we’re so enamored with; that we are more exceptional than a planet and a responsive ecological fabric that has produced millions and millions of formations and creatures and varieties of flowers.
We are such a puny little animal, and if we’re being honest we’re more a virus than a poster child, no?
As I’ve started to put my garden to bed for the winter, I’ve decided to plant a renewing flower garden in it’s wake to show my gratitude and give back in my own puny but potent way.
I’ve begun to plant a buffet that will blossom in waves throughout the season, providing forage to pollinators from early spring to late fall. I want to plant bulbs and seeds that will come back year after year and introduce prolific, native blooms that will sew new life generation after generation.
Invitations:
I will be sending these out one to two times per months reduced from the original intention of publishing weekly.
I am still committed to providing art regardless but naturally need to dedicate the bulk of my creative energy to the work that pays my bills :).
So…. if you like these essays? Consider becoming a paid subscriber for just $5/mo to support me in devoting more time and energy to this writing that moves us both so sweetly.
It will also help me determine if I launch a new podcast with episodes delivered monthly to the paid community!
From Me to You:
Very much enjoyed reading this educational and humorous essay - the nfl (taylor’s version). Historically I haven’t been a Swiftie and could probably only name 2-3 of her songs if pressed, but I enjoy the phenomenon she has become. She is powerfully and unapologetically blazing her own trail.
A song sent to me by my love this morning:
Until next month,
