Beloved friends,
Last week my mother and brother came to visit. My mama captured this photograph of me out on the deck watering my little garden while wearing the ancient nightie that James and I call my goth muumuu, an apron, and slippers. An everyday kind of moment, not the kind in which one is usually photographed, and precious to me in that. It seemed a genuine thing, and so worth sharing.
This little garden is precious in many ways. One is that I only bought two of the plants, tucking thyme and apple mint starts into my basket at the Co-op and the Farmstand while grocery shopping. All the rest were gifts from neighbors. Kristin gave me a valerian start as a gift when she was planting her garden in the spring. Anne offered oregano on Buy Nothing and gave me strawberry, too, when I came by on my bike to get them. Susea offered me some of her luxuriant Moroccan mint after I admired it when helping her dig out a half-acre of bull thistles and traded me that and a bag of downy woodpecker feathers for yoga. Deb texted to ask if I wanted some of Basha's strawberry thinnings and a couple hours later Basha showed up at my doorstep. The entire boot of her car was filled with cardboard boxes of strawberry plants. I took one and sent her on to Susea's. Oh, how I love this!
My part in the sweet economy of passing plants hand to hand has been giving away a bed of charming little primroses who were living here before me. I aim to replace them with ferns from the forest, and was so happy to pass them on. Folks came by with shovels and boxes and we dug them out for days. There was a week where if you came to my house, I tried to send you away with a muddy bucket of primrose. I love to think of them blooming all over.
Our first spring and summer here I did not plant anything. I wasn't sure where to begin and was relieved when Jessie told me that permaculture folks believe in watching a place for a year before changing it. I watched the sun and the seasons with care, and this second spring and summer I've begun gently with this little herb and strawberry garden on the back deck. First I went to the nursery and bought a couple of planters, but they filled quickly and goodness, pots are expensive these days! As more plants were offered and I said I didn't have pots for them, folks also offered me plastic nursery pots they had kicking around and bless me, I accepted, and set them on bucket lids so they won't rot the deck. I'm tickled about the unprecious way I've gone about this precious first season – it's a joy to strike blows against perfectionism.
I'll be away for a bit come autumn, loves. All events (including this missive) will be cancelled from September 9 - October 4, as my housesitter won't be handling teaching or counsel. If you've been thinking of planning a little time with me, now would be a great time to pop over to my Calendly to book! I'd love to see you.
When I return I'll be offering an autumn course. I'm considering what to call them now: while meditation is a cornerstone of what we share, they aren't about meditation anymore. My courses are about how we live in harmony with our core values, how we lives of meaning, joy, and honor, how we endure our sorrows as best we can. How to be human in thoughtful spiritual community. I called the last one "Support for Heartfelt Living and Change." Someone in the current course suggested "foundation for living" yesterday, which was an honor. We shall see what evolves! As ever, I'm interested in your thoughts and suggestions as I serve you.
Resources
Cosmic Context
CrashCourse says that "we believe that high-quality educational videos should be available to everyone for free!" and they have produced over 50 courses. Their home base is their YouTube Channel, which has links for all major social media. Their videos are also available through partnership with Arizona State University on the Study Hall platform. I know about them because of Crash Course: The Universe, in which theoretical astrophysicist Dr. Katie Mack walks John Green, author of The Fault in Our Stars and creator of the podcast The Anthropocene Reviewed, through "the history of the entire universe". I am very excited to check this out! If you get there first, I'd love to hear what you think.
Tending to the Body
With the current covid spike afoot, now seems like a good time to share a resource for what is (including vitamin C, astragalus, and mushroom extracts) and isn't (including echinacea, elderberry, and vitamin D) recommended in terms of nutritional and herbal support. To be clear, I look warmly forward to receiving my next vaccination this fall and I think it is wise to discuss with your doctor whether Paxlovid or other medications are appropriate for your sweet and unique body. I understand nutritional support as one layer of a holistic health care plan for caring for the body when dealing with this or any illness. Dr. Andrew Weil is a resource I often turn to for advice on integrative medicine. I trust him to keep a sharp eye on the latest research, a curious eye on traditional practices, and to distinguish clearly between them in sharing. His nutritional suggestions for covid are at the end of this article.
A Bit of Awe
I love how deeply scientific research is rooted in our curiosity. "'The fact that nobody could explain why a clam was iridescent really just stuck with me,' says Alison Sweeney, a Yale University biophysicist and co-author of the new research." What she found was that these giant, iridescent clams hold "the most efficient solar panels that scientists have ever found". The key lies in a symbiotic relationship with algae and a careful arrangement of them which is likely to inspire change in our human practices and capacities.
Living On
I recently held ceremonial space for the first time in my new community, reading a passage at a memorial service. It was from Martín Prechtel's The Smell of Rain on Dust: Grief and Praise . I was glad to meet his work, which seems quite beautiful; there's a copy of the book on my desk now. I look forward to sharing more in time. During the ceremony we were invited to scatter the remains of the beloved departed one. I was astonished that these remains were not ashes, but a woody mulch produced by a process sometimes called human composting; the folks who do it call it by the gentle and elegant name soil transformation. I knew that this technology was coming; I did not know it was here. It is available in much of the the western United States (Arizona, California, Idaho, Nevada, New Mexico, Oregon, Utah, and Washington) through a company called Earth. James and I both wish to do this. It feels quite different to be able to return to the Earth so quickly and entirely, both in meaning and in environmental impact.
Reciprocity
The Reading Circle began Braiding Sweetgrass in February and finished on Tuesday. Thanks to everyone who passed through, and to all who let me know that they were inspired to read on their own. I love this transformational book and am deeply grateful to have basked in and contemplated it so languorously. The final passage is profound and sweet, like all the rest:
“The moral covenant of reciprocity calls us to honor our responsibilities for all we have been given, for all that we have taken. It’s our turn now, long overdue. Let us hold a giveaway for Mother Earth, spread our blankets out for her and pile them high with gifts of our own making. Imagine the books, the paintings, the poems, the clever machines, the compassionate acts, the transcendent ideas, the perfect tools. The fierce defense of all that has been given. Gifts of mind, hands, heart, voice, and vision all offered up on behalf of the earth. Whatever our gift, we are called to give it and to dance for the renewal of the world.
In return for the privilege of breath.”
The Best Medicine
Is laughter, of course. This is the first I've seen Chris Fleming and it is hysterical. I am not a Trader Joe's shopper and this is still absolutely hysterical: The snacks at Trader Joe's that only women can see.