No ICE, Thank You

 

I have not always felt this way

about ice

no strong opinions

on whether a drink needs a cube

or not

but now,

now that ice means 

terror

violence

even death

to anyone who disagrees

who says "not in my town"...

now i have a strong opinion

about ice

I do not want any

As Gary and I sat eating our breakfast, we talked about the importance of doing what is ours to do in this critical moment. There are many ways to protest, to stand up for our neighbors, and to speak up for justice. The key for each of us is to figure out what is our particular way of making a point against the dismantling of democracy and the concomitant power grab that is going on.

Today, as I write this, there is a call for a national strike - no work, no school, no shopping. It got me thinking about other ways we can cast our vote for democracy. Other actions that might be noticed, if enough of us participated.

I turned to Gary and said, "what if, when getting a drink at a restaurant, or cafe, pub, or party, we simply said, 'No ice, thank you.' Would that make a point?"

"Wow! It sure would, especially if it caught on."

Maybe I am getting ahead of myself, but I can see something like this spreading across the country. If everyone who disagreed with what ICE is doing put a hand over their glass at every opportunity, and said, 'no ice, thank you', it could be a reminder that we can choose to say no.

This may not make a difference to the powers that are attempting to unravel our country's integrity and systems of justice, but it would be a way to signal to our friends, neighbors and the folks we interact with, that we stand against the cruelty and violence that ICE is perpetrating in our communities. More importantly, it would be a way of reminding ourselves.

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

 

In This Moment

In this moment

all seems well

I am warm and well fed

I have a place to lay my head down

In this moment

I have all that I need

but if I look beyond 

the immediate present

out into the world at large

my heart starts beating quickly

anxieties arise.

So many things I used to count on

freedom

justice

compassion

law and order

are blowing in the wind.

Innocent people 

are being shot

by government agents

black and brown people

are being targeted,

harassed and questioned

new immigrants

are being deported

for no reason

except that they

do not align 

with racist ideals 

of what Americans

look like

speak like.

In this moment

all may seem well

but trouble is close

breathing down our necks

we dare not ignore

the signs

of an approaching storm.

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

Winter Winds

Wintertime can be harsh

for those who live outdoors

birds flock to black sunflower seeds

scattered over frozen earth

as squirrels perform acrobatics

upending the feeder

What was a cozy nest in springtime

now hangs by threads

woven branches and fluff

exposed

offering no respite

from these winter winds

My friend and I wandered through the town cemetery today, talking about our lives, stopping to marvel at ancient cedars, inscriptions on the gravestones, and to watch a hawk fly. Somehow, being in the cemetery, with its evidence of so many lives lived, did something to my heart. The air was cold, and it was windy. When we came upon this broken-down nest, it made me think of those who do not have a home where they can shelter from the cold. It seemed symbolic of the unravelling of safety nets in our country.

I know we can do better. We can care for one another. If we put our hearts into it, we can push aside power-hungry greed and make way for kindness and compassion. We can ensure that all are protected from the harsh winter winds.

 

Bear Tracks & Gratitude

When I visit my sister, down in New Jersey, we make sure to take a nice long walk together. It was late afternoon when we found our way to the trail on this snowy and cold December day. "Let's go to the second bridge," she suggested, and I agreed. 

We walked along, talking about our lives. Fresh from our uncle's funeral, we reminisced about our childhood, when our families gathered to celebrate the holidays. The length of time between then and now took our breath away. We walked in silence for a while.

Reaching the second bridge, I saw tracks in the snow. Bear tracks. Sue went on ahead of me, while I stood over the tracks, taking pictures and marveling that only a short time ago, a bear had walked this very path! 

The encounter got me to wondering about all the creatures who walk along the same paths as we, of whom we never see any sign. I thought about our responsibility for those hidden neighbors, to ensure the waters run clear and the winds blow fresh. To ensure that there is freedom and space for the wild ones who prefer to keep their distance.

I also contemplated the uplift my heart feels whenever I see a sign that some rare (or common) creature has passed this way. The gift of knowing that we share this place, this earth, with those who are so different from us, and yet who are also, in some unique ways, so similar.

Gratitude filled me up, and buoyed my spirit as Sue and I, and her faithful dog, Nik turned back toward home.

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

 

The Bindness of Privilege

I understand the draw of water, the sense of peace it offers. It makes sense to me that people find their way to the ocean for times of respite and relaxation. But for many people, such as Palestinians, peace is too distant for them to imagine.

The contrast that Trump tactlessly drew between the Riviera and war-torn Gaza horrified me. It was a blatant display of the ignorance that a life of privilege, and its concordant disconnection from the realities that most people face, brings. People in Gaza have lost everything - loved ones, homes, communities, their entire way of life! And he has the audacity to suggest that these people be relocated to a country that is not their home, while their homes and communities be bulldozed out of the way to create an upscale resort!

The ignorance of one’s privilege is bad enough, but it is appalling when the president we have elected to lead our country displays such blatant disregard for the lives of others. If we cannot count on our leader(s) to lead us with integrity, wisdom or compassion, then we need to step up and step out.

We need to refuse to be led into the white-supremacist world Trump envisions, and start doing everything we can to create a different, better world. Start where you are. Talk with your family, friends and neighbors about the privilege and racism being promoted by the current administration. Conspire with one another about ways to be the kind and compassionate people that this world needs in every situation.

It is only by standing up and stepping out of the dystopian reality that is attempting to infiltrate our lives, that we can create the reality in which all people are valued, respected, listened to, and believed.

"How Do We Stand Each Other?"

Peggy Ann Brainerd Way (courtesy of Vanderbilt University Special Collections and University Archives)

In 1981, on my first day of Seminary, my professor, Rev. Dr. Peggy Ann Way asked a question that has continued to trouble and inspire me all of these years; "Jesus said we need to love one another," she began, "but my question is 'How can we stand each other? Love is easy, compared to this, but actually liking one another, getting along with one another? Now that is another story!'"

I found Dr. Way's comment jarring. For most of my life I had attempted to push down any thoughts of not liking someone. I was uncomfortable admitting that there were times when I disagreed with other people. In truth, I did not know what to do in those situations, and usually just retreated into silence. It was rare that I would actually argue with someone or even stand up for something I believed in, if I found myself to be alone in those ideas.

Dr. Way encouraged us to reflect on the fact that most churches and religious organizations tend to be homogeneous. They are made up of people who are similar to one another, because people gravitate toward others who are like themselves. It is not difficult to work together when we all see the world from the same perspective, when our experiences in life are similar. The tricky part comes when people are different from one another. 

The challenge for us, as people of faith, is to figure out how to work together in a heterogeneous group. Jesus's followers are not all the same. We are very, very different. Dr. Way broke into my musings saying, "We, as religious leaders, need to honor and include diverse voices and opinions. This is what it means to be the Church. How will you do this?"

Even now, retired from active ministry, I continue to ask myself Dr. Way's question. How will I honor diverse voices today? This is especially difficult when I vehemently disagree with what those voices are saying. The best I can manage is to listen to what is being said underneath the words. What fears and insecurities are being addressed? What is the true cause of that anger or frustration? 

I believe listening to diverse voices gives us insights that can defuse the anger and fear we encounter. As people of faith, we can locate ourselves in the "in-between places". We can stand with the vulnerable folks in our midst, while doing what we can to disarm the hate and violence that are prevalent. In the spirit of Dr. Way's message, this is what it means to be the Church.

*Quotes attributed to Dr. Way are rendered as remembered, to the best of my ability. Any misinterpretations of her intentions are my responsibility.

We Hold These Truths to be Self-Evident

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness."

The Declaration of Independence does not mince words. It was crafted to state what our Founders were hoping to create in this brave new world as they freed themselves from Britain's rule. 

Our society's long standing agreement about what constitutes "the Truth" is under attack. Some news outlets blatantly promote a skewed version of events, meanwhile doing all they can to convince their followers that no other news sources can be trusted. Many social media outlets have stopped monitoring their feeds to ensure that false and misleading stories are labeled as such, and so it can be difficult to tell truth from fiction when searching for information. Truth is being undermined, eaten away by those who strive to manipulate how we see the world and how we perceive events.

It is a well-known principle that if something is repeated often enough, eventually it starts to carry the ring of truth. This happens even with things that begin their lives as blatant lies! When we are bombarded day after day with false statements, it becomes almost impossible to sift through them to recover the truth lying squashed under the weight of it all. I wonder if we can agree to any truths being self-evident anymore? 

Are all people created equal, or are some a little more "equal" - more important than others? Is someone more equal because of the color of their skin, the education they received, their gender identity or the size of their bank account? And while we are talking about this particular point, the Declaration was obviously written long before inclusive language took hold, stating "all men are created equal". For way too long women did not count as full citizens. Our foremothers had to fight for the right of women to even be seen as a person. We thought this was "settled law" but with everything else that is being called into question, how long will it be before women are no longer considered of equal status? Roe v Wade has already been struck down; what is next? What does this undermining of rights mean for people who don't conform to binary gender concepts? Are we going to allow ourselves or our country to go back? 

Are the Rights afforded to us really unalienable, meaning nonnegotiable? Do we each get to live our lives as we wish? Are we all operating under the same Liberties as other folks, or do some people get more leeway in their liberties than others? 

And what about the Pursuit of Happiness? It is difficult to experience happiness when my rights as a woman are being wrested from my hands. It is difficult to experience happiness when the president-elect and his team refuse to submit themselves to the ethics that govern everyone else. It is difficult, almost impossible to experience happiness when honesty, mutual respect, kindness, care for the vulnerable, and so many other values I thought we all agreed on, are under attack.

Abraham Lincoln called the Declaration “a rebuke and a stumbling-block to tyranny and oppression.” 

I sure hope Abe was right. I hope something blocks the tyranny and oppression that have started to infiltrate our country. I hope something trips up those who are intent on undermining the rights for which our Founders and many others fought so hard. Maybe that something is us. We the people can and must do the hard work of deciphering truth from falsehood. We can and must insist on maintaining and holding fast to the rights the Declaration of Independence promised us.

Hope Is a Dangerously Good Thing

 

I have been thinking about hope, particularly about the difference it makes when we have it versus when we don't. Several years ago I heard someone say that they thought hope was not a good thing, because it creates a false sense of relief from the pressures we may be facing. Illustrative of this viewpoint, Morgan Freeman's character, Otis "Red" Redding, in the 1994 movie, The Shawshank Redemption, says, "Hope is a dangerous thing, my friend, it can kill a man". Red believes that hope of escape or release can drive a man insane because it's unlikely to come true. Tim Robbins' character Andy Dufresne disagrees, saying, "Hope is a good thing, maybe even the best of things. And good things never die".

Andy has it right, I think, having experienced this for myself in the past few days. 

As has been true for many of us, the divisions that exist in our country, and even in the world at large, have been wearing me down. It seems that every day the news, no matter what outlet you choose, focuses on the most negative stories and perspectives they can find. I didn't realize that all of this negativity had such a profound affect on me until a little bit of hope broke through the rubble of negativity and I felt my spirits lift.

The sliver of hope was represented by President Biden choosing to stand aside rather than continuing to pursue another term as president. Leading up to this moment, I was discouraged by so many lawmakers, journalists and others publicly calling for him to do just this. These conversations should have happened in private, where honest discussion, weighing of ideas and sharing opinions could take place in a respectful way, without the entire world watching. 

Listening in on conversations I would rather not have been privy to, left me feeling exhausted and incredibly stressed. Add to this the violence of an assassination attempt on Trump, followed by white christian nationalists comparing him to Jesus, and claiming God had saved him so that he could in turn save America; I was traumatized and terrified. 

And I knew I had to speak up to defend the faith I hold and the God I served as pastor for more than 30 years.

The God I know, has higher standards than any small-minded human with their self-serving agenda. The God I know does not save one person's life at the cost of another's. The God I know does not place power in the hands of those who want that power for selfish reasons. The God I know has a long-standing preference for the poor. All of the things I know and love about the God I serve stand in stark contrast to the values espoused by white christian nationalists, their terrifying Project 2025, and the corrupt criminal candidate to whom they have sold their souls.

Back to that glimmer of hope I mentioned. By stepping aside for the good of the nation, for the good of democracy, President Biden has shown what it takes to be a true leader. He may have wanted to continue in the presidency for another four years, but he has placed the needs of the whole above his own personal agenda. This humble act of service is incredibly rare in this day and age. Simply stated, it gives me hope that we may actually rise out of the current maelstrom and continue this experiment in democracy. It gives me hope that every person might still be seen and heard, their rights respected and their votes counted.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

Emily Dickinson, "'Hope' is the Thing with Feathers" from The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, edited by Thomas H. Johnson, ed., Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University press, Copyright © 1951, 1955, 1979, 1983

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.

Beach Cleaning as a Heart Practice

MacArthur State Park is one of our favorite beaches to spend time at while we are in Florida. There is an estuary to explore in kayaks, where we see all kinds of birds flying overhead or hidden in the mangroves around the shoreline. There is a boardwalk across the estuary, and finally, an expansive sandy beach where we can sit or walk for hours undisturbed. 

Storms can alter the shape and scale of beaches overnight, and one day we were shocked to see MacArthur Beach littered with all kinds of debris thanks to an overnight storm. The wind was still blowing when my daughters and I walked down to take a closer look. We saw the remains of someone's freshly built dock - the wooden planks and stairs, although scattered many feet apart, were still raw and freshly treated. A small boat, mostly made of foam and plastic, lay half buried in the sand. We sat for a while on a piece of lumber, and watched the crashing waves as the wind continued to blow strong and steady.

It was too windy to sit for long that day, but the next Gary and I returned and picked up a bucket and trash grabber that were stacked near the entrance to the beach. Walking up the beach that day we each collected a bucket full of plastic bottle caps, bags and fragments well on their way to becoming microplastics that cause so much harm in the worlds oceans. There were ropes and sharp bits of glass and wood, as well as a syringe that definitely gave me pause, walking barefoot as I usually do when I am there.

Since that day, when we go to the beach I often grab a bucket and add litter pick up to my relaxing beach walks. This practice helps me to feel that I am contributing in a positive way to keeping the environment I care about in better shape. It also slows me down. 

I am a person who has spent most of her life hurrying from one place or activity to another, taking very little time to reflect or pause between. How ironic that something that feeds into my need to keep myself occupied and feeling like I am accomplishing something worthwhile is also teaching me about the value of its opposite! It is important to learn how to simply BE, how to slow down to the speed of life. I know this intellectually, but find it difficult to actually practice it. Now, thanks to my desire to contribute by picking up litter, I am reaping the benefit of actually taking time to notice my surroundings, down to the smallest fragment of plastic or shell or seaweed or stone.

The discernment process of determining the difference between trash and treasure is serving me well as I allow myself the time to discern what is next in my life. I am not very patient, least of all with myself, but this is helping, and it enables me to do some good while I wait.

 

Under Construction

 

Gary and I are in Florida now, a winter destination that we appreciate for its warmth and our ability to walk outdoors despite the fact that there are snowstorms back home in Vermont. Last year before we came down to Florida for our first extended stay, I wrote about the concept of home. This year, knowing what to expect from this place, I am feeling more settled here. The irony though, is that the building in which our condo is located is undergoing major renovations. From 8am until 5pm there is the unnerving sound of drilling, concrete dust floating through the air, and the odors of paint and sealants. Windows are covered with blue plastic or plywood sheets to protect them (and us!) from flying debris. The pool is inaccessible during the daytime hours, and coated with the aforementioned concrete dust and debris of indeterminate nature, even when swimming is allowed, although probably not advised.

A week or so after our arrival, once the flooring had dried and painting was (mostly) complete, we were told that we could once again use our balcony. Gary and I were thrilled. We moved the furniture back out, cleaned windows and were prepared to enjoy our favorite spot in the entire apartment. The staging was still attached, with ropes and wires hanging down 12 stories from the roof, supporting scaffold cages that could be raised and lowered to where the workers were needed. But this seemed like a small thing compared to the ability to enjoy our balcony once again.

Despite having the balcony back, our quiet mornings were not guaranteed. Several mornings, I heard the whine of the staging motor begin as I sat out there in my pajamas and robe, enjoying a cup of tea. I would dash inside to change into something acceptable (to me) for company. Soon enough, the faces of a construction worker or two rose into view. Sometimes they stopped at our level and hopped out to clean windows, touch up the paint or address another last-minute issue. Other times they were just passing by on their way to upper levels of the building.

So, yes, we are here in Florida, enjoying the warmth and sunshine. And yes, we are also living in a construction zone. Most days we wander off to another location for a few hours - the beach, the library, a nature trail - returning as the workday winds down. It is a different kind of balance than the one I anticipated in coming down here, but it works for us. It also pushes us to get out and about rather than sitting too long in one place.

Seeds of Community & Hope

As the daylight started to fade, Gary and I stoked up our wood stove and bundled up to go out into the wintry night. A friend had invited us to come over and help create a seed mandala using the beautiful multi-colored corn he had grown. 

We had participated in creating mandalas before, and had seen Tibetan monks as well as Navajo artists working with colored sand to do the same. We were eager to put our minds and hands to good use, breathing our prayers for community, for healing, for hope, and for peace into the pattern we would choose to create.

The colorful ears of corn were hanging along the ceiling, having spent the past month or so drying out. Our friend brought some ears down and we got to work stripping the kernels from the cobs, and then carefully sorting them into bowls of yellow, pink, orange, red, blue, purple, and some of surprising yellow and red stripe. 

Sharing a potluck dinner, we took a break and talked about possible designs. The three young children, still dressed as fairies in their fanciful outfits complete with iridescent wings, chimed in, eager to help. Deciding on a Tree of Life, each of us took hands full of kernels, carefully arranging them into a strong trunk, then deep and intricate roots. Once the Tree was established, each child chose a color and helped design a rainbow effect of pillowy leaves across the tops of the branches.

Mandalas are often created as an active prayer, a sign of hope. Their intricate patterns and designs are imbued with sacred meaning. Ours was no different. When we had finished, we all sat back around the edges of the Tree and spoke in hushed tones about what we saw in the beauty and intent of the design. 

As we prepared to leave, we knew that the mandala would last for the night, perhaps, and then the corn would be gathered into bowls to be stored for food this winter. Even though the mandala itself was ephemeral, as most mandalas are, the prayers and intentions it brought forth will, we hope, spill out into our lives and into the world around us. 

The cozy evening spent with a few other creators of beauty and hope, kept my heart warm as we made our way home. I imagine it will continue to keep my spirit hopeful whenever I reflect on it. My earnest desire is that it does the same for others who were a part of the experience, as well as for you, who are hearing about it now.

 

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?

Floods

Vermont was in the national news recently due to the abundance of rain that has drenched our state. Roads, bridges, farms and homes have been damaged by the floods. In some cases they have been washed away. 

When the storms were just beginning, I had an appointment in a town that is about an hour north of my home. Listening to the weather reports and reports of the damage suffered by towns not too far from us, I was worried about making the drive. But I decided to go ahead, taking care to pay attention to any advice my smart phone or the Vermont Public reports might offer.

Gary and I drove north, through some pretty intense rain. The tire track lines in the roads were heavy with water, but not really overflowing. In fact, when we arrived at our destination, the rain was light and didn't even require an umbrella. Even so, we decided to keep our errands to the necessary, and headed home as soon as those were complete. The drive home was a little less rainy, but reports of road closures became the litany that accompanied us for the entire ride home.

We arrived home safely, somewhat shaken by the experience and especially by the reports that we heard of so much destruction. Several days of rain resulting in worse flooding than back when Irene hit Vermont, left us and our garden soggy, but fine.

Almost a week later, Gary and I were back in Middlebury, in the evening. We were drawn to the bridge right in the middle of town that goes over the Otter Creek. The water was high. It was forceful as it pushed against an island of trees that are usually not right in the middle of the flow. I took the picture above, sort of as a reality check, reminding me of the strength of those waters. Also reminding me of the fact that despite humankind's technological advancements, we are still subject to the very primal forces of nature.

My heart goes out to those whose lives and livelihoods have been upended by the recent floods. Any one of us could be in their shoes in the blink of an eye. Life is such a tenuous gift. We do well to live each day fully, and to support one another with kindness and healing acts of generosity.

 

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.

Mud Season Blues

Photo by Gary Lindorff

This in-between season is one of the toughest ones for many of us who live in the Northeast. We know that spring is coming, but winter is not quite done with us yet. There are tantalizing days when the sun shines brilliantly in a crisp blue sky, but when you walk out the door, the freezing temperatures shock the breath out of your lungs. Then there are days when the winds are warm and invite you to take a stroll down one of the trails in the woods, only to sink into mud that threatens to pull the boot right off your foot. 

I live on a dirt road, so driving during mud season is particularly fraught. It can feel as if your vehicle is being taken over by some alien being that grabs your wheels, jerking you this way and that. Staying on the road can be quite a challenge! The ruts are sometimes deep enough that smaller cars have to be abandoned for a couple of days until someone can deliver a load of gravel and make our road passable again. My Subaru can usually negotiate the mud, but there have been a few times when I had to leave it behind and hike home.

I am pretty tired of mud season already, and there is no guarantee of when it will be over. But there is one sweet glimmer of joy that makes its way into our lives this time of year along with the mud, and that is sugaring season. The conditions that make the mud so ubiquitous are the very same ones that make the maple sap flow. Warm days and freezing cold nights. When the conditions are right you can see and smell the sweet vapors rising out of sugaring sheds as the carefully collected sap is boiled down into delicious maple syrup. 

Photo by Meredith Pratt

Anticipating this treat takes the edge off of the frustrations that accompany mud season for many of us. Even if you don't have much of a sweet tooth, it is nice to sample the wares of local maple sugar producers. Before coming to Vermont I didn't give much thought to the difference between light fancy and dark rich grades of syrup, but an early spring taste test can be enlightening. To take a break from the mundanities of mud season, you could try sugar on snow or one of the wide variety of baked goods to be found at a maple festival in one of Vermont's small towns. If you are feeling particularly ambitious, you could try a cup of tea or coffee brewed with maple sap collected from a back yard tree. 

A little maple syrup may not cure you of the mud season blues, but it is a nice respite for sure.

Photo by Ethan Pratt