The Enigma of Time

Time has a way of continuing to move on. It doesn't matter if we are moving with it, or if we are watching it go past from our easy chair. 

When I am in Florida, as I am now, time has a different quality to it than it does back in Vermont. Despite being here for several months, there is something of "vacation" about my time here. I struggle against this, by transporting my kombucha scoby and sourdough starter 1,434 miles, and making meals from scratch, despite the prevalence of dining options within walking distance once I arrive. I walk every day as I do back home, but here I have the luxury of choosing to walk on a beach or a palm-shaded path. I read the news and do the New York Times puzzles, but when I glance up and away from the screen, the inland waterway is glistening right in front of me, boats lazily making their way out to the sea for the day, and, just beyond them, the golf course stretches as far as I can see.

Florida wants to teach me how to slow down. It wants me to notice the beauty of a white bird foraging for bugs, a manatee swimming by, flowers in full bloom despite winter's chill, lizards darting across my path when I least expect them. I want to comply, I really do, and I think there is a part of me that might be starting to let time to flow by me or through me, but there is a greater part of me that still wrestles with it. There is something within me that assumes it is important to create meaning in every moment. There is a part of me that wants to prove I have achieved something with each day granted. 

I imagine that someday I will discover that there is a balance between the two, a balance between achieving and learning how to appreciate and embrace the beauty of each moment. Maybe this is the year I will take the lesson to heart.

So Much Space: An Exercise in Trust

 

So much space

expanses of time

breathing room, for sure

but for what?

Leaving work life

I imagined

opportunities 

unfurling at my feet

showing themselves

in splendor and possibility.

I find myself 

weighing the choices

looking far down each path

but more unsure than Frost

which one is for me

where my destiny lay

that "one wild"

and don't forget, 

"precious" life

I long for

and imagined

was searching for me.

Now,

here I stand

arms open

expectant

heart welcoming

daring to hope

seeking a glimpse

of what may come

into this space

that is my life

Trees and I

I have a fondness for trees, 

a relationship, really

as it goes both ways

between trees and me

as I walk through the woods,

it is common 

for me to speak 

to the trees as I pass

reserving particular attention

for the elders,

those who have been around

for a while

wisdom seeps into me

as I walk by

reaching out

to caress the bark

of sister Pine

as I prepare to step over the stream

to touch the leaves

clinging to brother Oak

despite winter's chilly winds 

The quiet

the peace

soaking into me

in the forest depths

heals something within

that I did not know needed healing

 

Keep Breathing

 If breathing

is what we do

together

then how is it different

when I am on my own,

when I am waiting

for that magical moment

of joining in with friends

breath to breath?

“Breathe deeply

let go of everything

except the breath”

Breathing is essential to life

something we do

without thought or planning,

so these moments

in between

breathing alone

and breathing with others

can be chalked up to

just breathing

Tiny Doses of Gratitude

 

Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and because of this, thoughts of gratitude are in the air. 

So often, we think that gratitude has to be related to something BIG. We assume that the bigger the better, the bigger, the more gratitude generated. But I just listened to a program on the radio on which the professor spoke of research that has proven gratitude is especially valuable when we feel it for many little things throughout our day.

It is better to look for and notice small things you are grateful for as you go about your daily life. Weaving appreciation through your day is more effective in terms of actually helping us become more grateful, more positive, than setting aside a special time to reflect on what you are grateful for once a day.

The whole idea is to build your gratitude muscle, as you might any other muscle. 

The picture I posted above is of my favorite vacation place. When I am there, I definitely feel gratitude for all I see and experience. But what that story reminded me, is to recognize what I am grateful for in my ordinary life. To remember that there is extraordinary value in appreciating the simple pleasures of my home and my life here. 

Tiny doses of gratitude can add up to big changes in attitude.

Golden Light

Golden light 

surrounds me

just for a week or so

when the beeches turn

from summer's green

to autumn gold

This gold 

a kaliedescope

of every variant

green to yellow to brown

overwhelms me

every time

I stop my car

trying to take it in

but that is never enough

I get home

climb out of the driver's seat

and walk back

to that beautiful 

tunnel of molten light

stand

taking it in 

with every molecule of awareness

When the leaves are gone

blown by wind

pummeled by rain

too tired to hold on

when stark branches 

lift against wintry skies

remember what it felt like

when golden light

was everywhere

 

Samhain Moon

Tonight may be 

a super moon

beaver moon

and lovely

for all that hype

but 

I favor

Samhain's moon

with whom I spent 

Saturday evening

standing in the meadow

gazing mesmerized

as clouds shifted

across her face 

We circled the cairn

carrying stones 

filling them 

with prayers and hope

placing them

under her watchful eye

on that thin-veiled night

 

While the Sun Shines

 

While the sun shines

there is much to do

fill the woodbox

hang out laundry

mow the lawn

wash the windows

So easy to consider

all the details

making up survival

these, of course

must be done 

sometime

easier in clement weather

But what about thriving?

what about joy?

caring for the soul?

lifting my spirits?

My new list

while the sun is shining: 

wander in the woods

sit by the stream

soak in the golden warmth

stretch out in my hammock

paint the light

write a poem

Halloween Comes with Invitations

Halloween comes with invitations:

choose an identity!

get creative!

dress up!

trick or treat!

dance!

let go of the old!

For the Celts

the veil is thin

Samhain, as they know it 

sits on the cusp

a new year just about to dawn

but first

honor the old

recognize what is yours

and what is not

again, the message comes

let go

now we enter interior time

you are invited 

to go within

ever deeper

breath here

let your shoulders relax

your heartbeat slow

be here now

is all you are asked

 

Each Breath a Blessing

I walk a lot

Even when arthritis is acting up

I can't help myself

There is so much that feeds me

out in the world

trees, flowers, mosses, streams, rocks

and all of the creatures

scurrying or flying away in alarm

I murmur my apologies

for upsetting the natural order of things

wishing I was more an accepted part of it all

Settling down by the stream edge

even when the water has gone underground

there is peace here

a quiet

that my soul needs

Breath by breath

blessings given and received

Aware that I am the one

most blessed

by these walks

by these moments

Picking Up the Pieces

I have been experiencing a dry period with regard to my blog posts. My faith in humanity is shaken and I find myself needing time to recalibrate. It is simply beyond my comprehension that we have elected the current administration. There were so many signs that this was a bad idea, that I thought it was impossible for Trump to succeed in getting elected. How could so many people actually vote for someone who attempted to circumvent the democratic process once and clearly stated he would dismantle it if he got into office? How could people vote for a sexist, racist bully who wields wealth and power as if they give him the right to do whatever he wants? Did the people who voted for him think he was just kidding when he said all of those awful things? That he was using hyperbole? 

However it happened, after the election, I needed to take some time to deal with my disappointment, get over the shock, and regroup. But now, the negative effects are accumulating and I know it is time to pick up the pieces and speak up. I cannot even begin to enumerate all of the ways in which the safety rails many of us counted on are falling apart. Some dictates are coming down from Trump and the billionaires and other pandering folks who have gathered around him seeking their own piece of the power pie. But the effects that cause me the most alarm are the more localized ones. The more personal attacks enacted by everyday people.

Ugly text messages are being sent to children, attacking them on the basis of color, gender identity, or nationality. Hate mail and death threats are being sent to good people who are simply working toward justice in their communities. Confederate flags fly over homes, silently threatening the serenity and security of black and brown neighbors. School children mutter epithets under their breath to kids who are different from themselves, and the adults in their lives either encourage this behavior or throw up their hands in resignation, assuming they have no control over them.

I can't help but wonder if we have not necessarily lost control, but rather that we have chosen to abdicate control. It seems to me that many of us have given up our autonomy. We have abdicated our rights. Instead of discerning for ourselves what to think and how to respond in any given situation, we have given away the power of personal choice to the highest bidder. 

There is a lot of uncertainty right now, and along with uncertainty comes fear. When you don't know what is going to happen next, it can seem sensible to lay low for a while until we see what unfolds. The problem with this, is that our friends and neighbors, and a whole lot of people we may not know, are being affected negatively right now. If we hold back, if we withhold our comments until we are more certain, then it will already be too late to protect the most vulnerable in our midst. 

The time to speak up is now. Pay attention, and "if you see something, say something!" The time to act on behalf of justice for all, is now.

The Injustice of Immunity

 

The path ahead is a challenging one - no matter what "path" I contemplate these days. My everyday walks are challenging because of the extreme heat that is afflicting most of the country, including Vermont, and the fact that rain either inundates us or skips over our garden means I am often walking in dust or mud.

The path ahead for our country holds far too much of my attention. I subscribe to a national newspaper, hoping for a wide breadth of information about what is going on in the world, but most days my heart takes a dive just skimming the so-called "top stories" which are steadily normalizing a reality I do not want to acknowledge. 

Presidential immunity is just the latest scandal to rise to the top of my newsfeed. And, yes, I do consider it a scandal. I am astonished that we are just stumbling along as if this must be accepted without any pushback. Those of us who believe in this country and the system of checks and balances our founders established, want desperately to rely on them taking care of this problem. But at this point in time, the checks and balances have been dismantled. The Judicial branch of our government, meant to balance the Executive branch, is no longer free of bias, and the Legislative branch is unable to function at all thanks to the deeply entrenched desire on the part of some to oppose anything their colleagues on the other side of the aisle propose.

The dismantling of justice and, honestly, of reality itself, is insidious work. In this country it began quite some time ago. When I comment to equally-frustrated friends that Barack Obama should have appointed a Supreme Court justice in March of 2016, but was blocked by an obstructionist Republican Senate, others with a deeper understanding of history tell me the unravelling started long before that happened in 2016.

I am not equipped to go into the long and painful history of our country's unravelling, and of the root causes of the dissociative state we find ourselves in with regard to reality. But what I will say is that we cannot stand by and just watch this play out. We need to speak up wherever and whenever we can, adding our voices to those who are willing to say we have lost our way as a country and as a people. 

We need to teach our children and our politicians that there IS such a thing as "truth", and that truth is universal. Truth cannot be tamed or manipulated. We as a country need to find our way back to the honest truth - of what is just and fair, as well as the truth of what simply IS. 

Jesus said "the truth will set you free". Personally, I would like to be free again, and this is my wish for all of us. The irony is, that while you and I feel less and less free, a convicted criminal is not only running free, but he is running for president. Until this great injustice is corrected, until everyone stands back on equal footing in this "land of the free and home of the brave", none of us is truly free.

Blind Justice

Lady Justice is depicted as being blindfolded, whenever she appears. This signifies that in the eyes of justice, everyone is treated equally. No one is more important than anyone else. No one's rights supersede anyone else's. This is even stated in the Declaration of Independence: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men (sic) are created equal,..." 

So, I am confused hearing that the Supreme Court of the United States is deliberating about whether the president is equal to everyone else, or if he or she is exempt from justice. How is it even possible that we are contemplating this? Why would we want our elected leader to be free from the laws that all of the rest of us are responsible to live up to? What is the benefit in this? It seems to me that this is a short step away from said elected leader declaring him or herself president for life rather than succumbing to elections when their term was up. (Which we already had a brush with, if you remember!)

It seems to me that we would want a president who was a role model; someone who leads the way in showing people how to live responsibly, honestly and upholding the laws of the land. I cannot get my head around the possibility that any honest person would want to put themselves above the law. To me, a leader should be one of the staunchest supporters of the laws of justice. At the very least, being a leader should mean doing one's absolute best to consider the needs of the whole nation above their own personal desires and whims. 

If a person thinks they are above the rules that govern everyone else, then their life has no moral center. If someone does not have a plumb line by which to judge when they are on course and when they are off, then that person could end up pretty far off course very quickly. And if that person was the president, then when this happened they take the entire country with them. Consider the problems this would create!

If the Supreme Court decides that the president is above the law, then Lady Justice may no longer be blindfolded, but her hands will be tied. Nothing good can come of this, and it horrifies me to know that people who are supposed to guard the integrity of our country do not see this as a terrible violation of one of the very principles they should be upholding. 

A Pilgrimage to the Familiar

 

Every September for the past several years, Gary and I, along with our good friends, Meredith and Ray, make our way to Monhegan Island in Maine. It is a place that I have written about before. Ten miles off the shore, Monhegan is an island inhabited by artists and writers in the summer months, some of whom fell in love with the island long ago and some, like me, who are relative newcomers. 

During the colder months the population dwindles down to about 45, the town water supply is shut off to protect pipes from freezing, most business shut down or depend on the honor system. I have tried to imagine what it might be like to spend a winter there, hunkered down in a cozy cottage to focus on my writing. I wonder if I have what it takes to make it through the isolation and the cold. Would my fascination hold? I like to think so, and maybe some day Gary and I will try it out.

For now, we limit our visits to the "shoulder seasons" of June and September when the island is a bit less populated by day trippers and tourists. (Yes, I know I am technically a tourist too, but loving and spending time on Monhegan when she is a little less hospitable feels like it might win me some small concession in that department.) Remembering to bring my down coat in June, climbing into a full set of rain gear to walk out to the edge of Lobster cove's rocks in a storm, singing at a Jamboree lit by kerosene lights as the evening cools, are all gifts of this time of year.

September is beautiful there. Purple and yellow-gold flowers are in bloom. Migratory birds can be prolific, as can be the butterflies. Sunsets are amazing, and there is nothing like exhausting yourself out on the trails all day before coming back to the cottage to toast the sunset on the porch before settling in for a good meal and a cozy evening with friends.

As I prepared for this latest trip to Monhegan, a friend suggested that I consider it as a pilgrimage. The idea intrigued me. I thought it might deepen my experience in ways that simply showing up for a vacation would not. And so, I brought my journal along and committed to write in it every day. Most days I sketched as well, despite the fact that I really have no talent for that kind of art. ("I am an artist with words" I like to assert, "but not so much with any other methods.")

It felt like my time on Monhegan did go deeper in response to seeing it as a pilgrimage. I was less concerned with doing things and more content to simply be. It felt good to show up for each new day with an open mind, willing to let it unfold as it would. I found myself trusting that whatever happened, wherever I wandered, and whatever I did, would be just what the moment called for, and for the most part this is exactly how it felt. 

Coming home is always a melancholic experience. Leaving behind such a special place and such a golden time is not easy, but somehow when I left this time I felt more prepared for the re-entry back into my everyday life. It felt like I had gleaned what I needed to from my pilgrimage, and would be returning home a little more centered for the effort.

Old Treasure & New

I find it really difficult to sort out trash from treasure. Sure, I have heard Marie Kondo's suggestion that I hold each item to see if it sparks joy and only keep those that do, but sometimes the memories attached to things are so strong I can't decipher if there is joy in the mix or not. 

Recently our small town library had a yard sale. Folks set up tables and artfully displayed their wares, hoping someone would choose something they were ready to part with. My intention was to bring a whole carload of things that have been accumulating on our shelves over the past several years. As the day approached, it became obvious that I had not done the necessary weeding out work in preparation for the big event. Sure, I had a few boxes of things to offer, but truthfully, they barely scratched the surface of all that we would like to move along to a new home. 

In the midst of all that did not "move along", Gary and I did decide to bring a couch that has been a part of our lives for many years. It was gifted to us when some dear friends moved out of state several years ago. It wasn't really their style or our style either, but it came with the story of our friendship and some good memories. In my office at the local college, it offered a safe space for students to sit while engaged in wonderful conversations during the years Gary and I worked there. We brought it back to our house when the college closed, but it never really seemed at home here. It's formal airs seemed daintily at odds with our overstuffed couch, pine tables and braided rug.

It is so much easier to part with the things that hold a place in our hearts if we see them transferred safely into someone else's appreciative hands. This is exactly what happened when we brought the couch to the library's yard sale. I did some research to figure out an appropriate asking price, and soon a young family came over, exclaiming about the color, the style, and how it was just right for their home. When I told the woman who the former owners were, she was thrilled, telling me that our friend's book was her favorite childhood companion. As we were talking her daughter came and plunked herself down on the couch, settling in comfortably. It seemed the decision was made; the couch chose its new family just as clearly as they had chosen it.

Where Does the Time Go?

 

Time is such a slippery element of our lives. When I was working, somehow I accomplished everything necessary at home while also managing to carry on a full time job. Now that I am retired, I often get to the end of a day and find myself wondering, "what just happened here!?" The days pass weirdly slowly, but in what should be the opposite, they also go by in a blur, with less accomplished than I had hoped for at their dawning.

A few weeks ago my sister called to ask if Gary and I wanted to join them for a long weekend in the Finger Lakes. Sue and Mike wanted to check out some of the many wineries in the area, and had found a cabin on Cayuga Lake that had a beach for swimming as well as paddle boards and kayaks that we could use to explore the lake. My gut response was, "Oh no, we can't do that. It is coming up too fast. We don't have time enough to plan." But I took a breath, as I am learning to do thanks to several years of mindfulness practice, and asked myself, "well, why not?"

A week later, having made arrangements for our cats to be cared for in our absence, we loaded up the car and took off for the adventure.

What amazed me about those days was that there seemed to be enough time to reconnect in a meaningful way with my sister and her husband, as well as to relax and enjoy the cabin and lake. We sat on the dock to watch the sunrise, sang songs around the campfire with the folks at the cabin next door, we paddle boarded north one day and south the next, and swam for a while when we were hot and tired. We even saw a golden eagle when we were paddling, and a brilliant rainbow stretching from the sky down to the other shore after a storm. Somehow we also had plenty of time to hike to a waterfall in one of the famous gorges, and took in more than six wineries, breweries, or distilleries over the course of our time there.

When we got back home, I was slightly bewildered by all of the exceptionally fun things we managed to accomplish in such a brief time. "How did time stretch so far?" I don't have an answer, but maybe it has something to do with truly being present in each moment as best we could. All I do know is that I am going to keep practicing. Maybe I'll get even better at it, and learn how to stretch out the rest of my life in some amazing ways?

Be Here Now

 

There is such a profusion of beauty in the natural world. The other day Gary and I took a hike on Endless Brook Trail, which is near our home in Vermont. We came upon these flowers at the beginning of the trail. They arrested my attention, as the person who planted and tends them was most likely hoping they would, and I am grateful for that. All too often I plunge from one thing to the next, checking things off of my "To Do" list as I turn my attention to the next thing on said list.

These flowers stopped me in my tracks (tracks that were heading rather quickly and single-mindedly to the summit of the trail), and I am glad they did. They reminded me that it is not just the summit that is of value. The means by which we get to the goal of our climb matters too. In this case, the trail itself and everything it contained was worth noticing. For instance, the name of the trail comes from the brook that runs along it for awhile. The water goes underground for long stretches and then pops up again so it seems to be endless.

As a result of slowing down, Gary and I took in the beauty of these flowers and all of the bees, butterflies and other insects who were visiting them as well. A little further on, we saw a frog in the pond, well-camouflaged among the lily pads he was resting on. Every few steps along the trail, mushrooms of various wild colors caught our attention. They ranged in hue from pale white to yellow, from orange to bright red, and from the tiniest perceptible dot to saucer-size platters scattered among the leaves, roots and ferns.

Of course, we did reach the lookout at the top of the hill after a good while climbing, and the view was nice to take in. Gary and I sat on a fallen tree in what little shade we could find and munched on snacks of walnuts and red grapes along with sips of refreshing water as we looked out over Lake Saint Catherine. Far below we saw boats circling lazily, and above them, some raptors cruising the skies.

On the way down, I stopped at the stream and took off my shoes, sitting with the water as it moved by, and watched the play of sunlight reflected from the water onto the bank across from me. Small fish swam near me, checking out my toes while some curious water creatures who looked like sticks with wiry appendages moved with jerks across the sandy bottom.

Ram Dass is known for his philosophy and book titled "Be Here Now". It is a phrase that I thought I understood when I was first introduced to it, but my earliest impression was just scratching the surface of its possible meanings. I like to think I am getting better at truly understanding it as time goes on. Days like this one, when I can reflect on so many small, interesting and beautiful things that captured my attention tell me I just might be getting closer to not just comprehending what it means to Be Here Now, but actually living it.

Nothing To See Here!

The other morning I took a trail out to the northern end of the island on which I was spending some time. When I emerged from the tree covered trail onto what is labeled on the map as "Pebble Beach" two women were there already. One was sitting, looking out to sea but the other was curled up in a fetal position with her back to the water, her face tucked in and eyes determinedly shut. I couldn't help asking if she was alright.

"There is nothing here," she said, gesturing wildly with her arm without changing position. "I carried my painting supplies all this way and there is absolutely nothing here to see! Nothing worth painting, for sure!"

I looked around at the large, colorful rocks that make me think Pebble Beach was named by giants with a different sense of proportion than me. I looked at the shoreline where I could see some cottages hunkered down near the water's edge. I looked out at the small islands where I knew I would see seals if I was patient enough to wait for them to move. I looked at the sky and the water surface where ducks, gulls and cormorants lazed around, and I wondered how she could possibly think that there was nothing here to see. 

Her friend ventured a careful suggestion that she needed to look around, and I might have said what I was thinking out loud, "it helps to open your eyes, if you want to see anything." 

I walked away, to a place where I could get closer to the water, took off my sneakers and socks and settled in for awhile, soaking my feet and watching what was going on in the natural world. The water was bracingly cold, as it slipped over the kelp, moss-covered rocks and my feet in a way that soothed me and also woke up a lot of nerve endings. 

I felt bad for the woman who lay curled up with her eyes closed. She reminded me of how easy it is for us to shut ourselves off from joy if we are not willing to be open to simple pleasures and small joys. 

When I am having a bad day, an approach that helps me climb out of the doldrums is to pay closer attention to every little thing around me. I might go outside and encourage myself to look for something interesting, surprising or beautiful - a tiny yellow flower blooming in the driveway, an ant carrying a crumb leftover from Gary's and my breakfast, an orange butterfly flitting past, a bird singing or a chipmunk insistently chirping nearby. 

When I am in a funk, it is the little things that lift my spirits more than anything else. Mostly, it is the things I might not notice otherwise, the things it might be easy to pass over with barely a glance, declaring, "there's nothing to see here!" But my eyes tell me otherwise, especially when I keep them open, especially when I am willing to look beyond the surface and wait for the details of each place to emerge more clearly, to show themselves to me. That is when I recognize that there is plenty to see here, plenty to take in and appreciate, plenty of things that make the journey well worth my while.

 

Resilience Lessons from Ducklings

I am on Monhegan Island in Maine for a couple of weeks. It is a place Gary and I have spent time for the past ten years, finding here a sense of respite and calm that soothes my soul. Mostly what I do here is sit on rocks or cliffs, and watch the ocean and her inhabitants go about their lives.

Yesterday, I was sitting in a place called Gull Cove, on rocks pretty near the shoreline. What looked like a floating log appeared on the water moving toward shore, but as it got closer, I realized that it was actually not a log at all, but rather a mother duck and her long line of progeny following closely behind. As they moved into the cove, the little ones started attempting to tip forward putting their bills under the water, desperately trying to capture a bite of something yummy. The problem was, that they were so buoyant they kept bobbing back up to the surface, often with quite a bit of force and a big splash!

The mother duck led them up to the very top edge of a rock where they started jostling for position. As they each tried to get themselves settled on the rock’s ridge line, they kept bumping into one another, and inevitably one or two of the little balls of fluff tumbled down the side of the rather large rock. The first time this happened, I gasped, worried that the little ones who had lost their place in the line-up would be hurt or worse, but as soon as they stopped rolling, they righted themselves and started climbing right back up to the top of the rock.

Soon, the ducklings were lined up in a row along the edge of the rock, happily nestled next to one another. Calm reigned for a little while.

It was not very long before the mother decided it was time to get up and move again. As soon as she climbed off the rock, her little ones followed, a line of fluff balls waddling and tumbling down into the water. As they paddled around in the cove, they started practicing their bobbing again, dipping their little bills in the water, and amazingly soon, actually diving down under water where they stayed for longer than I thought possible. Somehow, in the course of a very little amount of time, they had figured out how to stay under water long enough to achieve their goal of finding some delectable snack. Maybe it was that period of rest that allowed their little duck minds to open up to the next lesson?

I sat on the edge of the cove for more than an hour, watching the ducks until the mothers began to lead them out into the deeper waters of the ocean. Waves washed over them, scattering the ducklings every which way. I worried that some of them would be lost in the fray, but eventually mother and babies were reunited beyond the roughest waves and they set off to their next destination.

Reflecting on what I had seen, I was struck by the resilience and resolve of those little ducklings. No more than a ball of fluff, each of them had a fierce determination to accomplish every new task. It didn’t matter if they bobbed to the surface when they tried to dive, they just kept at it until they figured out how to manage the mechanics. It didn’t matter if they got knocked off the rock by a restless sibling, they just got their feet under them and climbed up again. 

I know that we humans have far more tasks that we need to accomplish in order to achieve competence and adulthood, but I think we can learn from our fluffy companions that a little resilience and a whole lot of resolve goes a long way. If we think we can, then chances are, we can!

Where Stewardship & Ownership Meet

 I am getting ready to preach for the first time since I retired last year. The scriptures focus on Creation, which usually makes me smile. But just yesterday the Supreme Court pulled EPA protections away from wetlands, leaving room for the erosion of over 50 years worth of careful stewardship of these precarious and precious places. The wetlands are the spaces that absorb excess waters when extreme rains come, they protect the integrity and clarity of lakes, rivers, and oceans by filtering sediment and toxins.

The case that brought this to the Court's attention has to do with the concept of “ownership” of land. Some folks bought land, for a pretty penny, and they want to do what they choose with it. On the surface that sounds perfectly understandable, but if we rush to defend "ownership" we often do so by casting the idea of "stewardship" into the shadows.

Gary and I live on land that is in part shared space. We are part of a community of 6 homeowners who each "own" 10 acres and share in the care and stewardship of about 80 acres of orchard, meadow and woodland. When the community was conceived, nearly 50 years ago, the original participants had a loosely defined desire to protect the land and hold it in reserve for future generations. About 20 years ago we placed a good bit of the land into the Vermont Land Use program, agreeing not to develop the land and to care for it in special ways in exchange for a reduction in taxes.

We have interpreted this responsibility in different ways over the years, and for the most part, have been able to agree on what that looks like - mowing the meadow after the Bobolinks and Savannah Sparrows have fledged, cutting trees in the wood lot so as to increase habitat and mast for creatures and also to encourage the growth of healthy trees. Our orchard has presented a challenge, however. It turns out there are a wide variety of approaches to managing an old orchard, and divergent views of what we are working toward with said management.

All of this contributes to my asking, "so, what is good stewardship? What does it look like to take care of an orchard, a meadow, a woodland or a wetland? How much should we be interfering with the natural course of events, and for whom are we managing the land, anyway?" My ready answer is that we are taking care of the land for future generations, but does this mean our children and grandchildren or does it mean the people who will be here seven generations and more from now? 

I would hope that this is the same thing, but recent discussions have proven me wrong, or at least out of synch with the perspectives of some of my friends and neighbors. As I reread the creation story in Genesis, I became aware that my perspective has been shaped by this scripture and how the environmental movement interprets stewardship. It has been shaped by the Indigenous perspective that says the land does not belong to us, but rather we belong to the land. In this vein, I have to put aside my personal needs and desires and bow to the needs of the earth and all of the living beings who depend on her, not just us humans.

It is difficult for us to give up the personal perspective. It is difficult for us to let go of the notion of ownership and all of the rights and privileges this entails. It is difficult to move from a place of bending the land to our wishes and instead, putting ourselves in service to the land, but this is what is needed. It is necessary to do this in order to ensure that there is a sustainable future for any of us.