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 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.

The Wisdom of Bluebirds

                                                                ~Photo by June Schulte

My friend June took this photo of a Bluebird who was doing his best to deal with below-zero temperatures. When you live in Vermont and it is winter time, your options for keeping warm are limited. Recently, when the temperatures dipped well below freezing, this little guy perched on a branch above a heated bird bath for the duration. Puffing his feathers out, he created as much insulation from the cold as he could muster. 

I have been spending a lot of time with Florida's birds, none of whom seem to have any trouble accepting the warm and sometimes hot weather down here. Being so close to water most of the time, they can easily dip in and cool off if that is their desire. The ocean breezes help to keep things comfortable as well, for birds and for us.

This got me to thinking about how we protect ourselves from the extremes that challenge us - extremely hot or cold weather, emotional ups and downs, and more painfully, the tragedies that sometimes touch our lives. How do we insulate ourselves so that we have the protection we need? How do we ensure that we are not thrown too far off balance by the challenges that come our way?

Sometimes I wish I was like this little Bluebird and could puff up my feathers to create a soft cushion around me. Seeing him got me to thinking about what we humans can do for ourselves when the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" whiz around our ears. What stands in the place of fluffy feathers for us?

Companionship is possibly the strongest protection we have. Family, friends, companion animals, co-workers, other folks who know something about what we are facing. Each of these offers support to us when we need it, and each offers different kinds of accompaniment, depending on their particular gifts and on our relationship with them. Some are good listeners, others offer deep wisdom, some are active and get us moving when we need that, while others are good cozy company when we need to curl up for awhile. 

For me, companionship also comes in the mysterious form of the Holy. Call this God, Spirit, All-That-Is - whatever strikes a chord with your own inner knowing. Even after years of ministering, and of praying my way through a humbling array of crises, the Holy shows up in my life, my mind and my heart in a wide variety of ways. Even now, a simple name does not manage to wrap this Presence up for me in any kind of authentic way. But I know I am held in this Holy Presence, always.

Quite some time ago when I was going through a rough patch, a dear friend guided me to imagine myself surrounded by rose colored light, she described it as an egg-shaped rose quartz. This was meant to provide protection from any outside elements that challenged me and also to be a source of strength so that I could face those challenges with courage. It helped, so I return to this practice whenever I feel the need for a little extra protection, a little extra courage. 

When I surround myself with this light, I feel the presence of all of my companions in life - the mysterious presence of God, Spirit, All-That-Is and the earthier presence of dear family and friends. In this way, I feel held in Love. As I get ready to take whatever step seems the next right thing to do, I am held in Love. If I need to curl up and sit tight for a while as the sweet Bluebird in this picture is doing, I can do that with a sense of peace. Knowing that no matter what, the love of family, friends and the Holy surrounds me now and always, gently guiding me, never judging, always holding me close.

My Seagull Friend

I was sitting on the beach yesterday, reading a book and minding my own business when this young seagull alighted on the sand a few feet away from me. I turned to look at him, smiled and said something like "I don't have anything for you, buddy," knowing that gulls are often drawn in when a person is eating, but demonstrating that I did not have any food for him or for me.  

I returned to reading my book at which point he took a few steps toward me. When I looked up from my book to take a closer look at him, he looked at me, all innocence. He was young, I could tell that because his head still had the scattering of light brown spots that gulls have for their first year or so. He was so close I could see his yellow legs and noticed the rubbery, slightly grubby texture of them, like a child's toy that had been dragged from place to place accumulating a bit of dirt along the way. 

We looked at each other for a while longer. He took breaks to poke his beak into his shoulder feathers and satisfy an itch, while I glanced back at my book now and then. My book was good, but to be honest it could not compete with the proximity of my seagull friend who persisted in standing at my shoulder, sneaking closer step by step when he thought I wasn't looking.

As he crept nearer, I got a chance to see his beak close up, and was careful to keep my hands tucked in my lap, unsure just how far our friendship would take us, not knowing what role a beak plays in seagull-human relationships. He might think he was just reaching out with a friendly gesture, while for me it could result in a painful nip. At this point, he bent his head down toward the sand and started to screech. "Gosh, his mouth is absolutely bright orange!" I noticed as he verbalized his frustration. 

He flew off and landed a little ways down the beach. I thought that was probably the end of our little encounter, but after a minute or two of poking around the sand down there, he flew back to his sentry post at my shoulder. He looked me in the eye as if to re-establish our rapport, and took a few steps toward me again. At that point he looked away. It seemed studied to me, as if he was attempting to adopt a carefree attitude about whether I was glad to see him or not.

"How are you doing, buddy?" I asked, wanting to put him at ease and reassure him of our continuing bond. I started wondering if he might have been one of those young gulls I saw just days after hatching on Monhegan Island back in June. Gary had returned to his seat next to me by then so together we wondered about gulls and migration. Would a gull born in Maine make his way to Florida for the winter? I had no idea, but I was trying to make sense of the interest this young guy was showing toward me.

For the next hour or so he continued to stand nearby watching me intently, sometimes taking breaks to fly off down the beach for an interaction with another gull, or to shake off some of the excess energy he must have been building up by standing at my shoulder for so long. But he kept coming back.

When it came time for Gary and I to leave I felt like I was abandoning a friend. I assumed he would fly off when we stood up and started packing up our chairs, but no, he stood right there watching us. Even as we walked away, offering encouragement as we left. I worried that he would stand there and watch us until we were out of sight. My heart was already feeling sad at leaving him, and I didn't think I could take it if he kept looking at me so intently. 

When we were about ten feet away, he started moving as if to follow us, but then stopped at a pile of seaweed and started picking it apart, looking for something to eat, I assume. Seeing that he had something new to hold his attention, I felt more comfortable leaving. "Maybe we will see you another day, buddy!" I called out, and who knows, maybe we will?

 

Thanksgiving

Ten of us descended on my sister and brother-in-law's home for Thanksgiving this year. Sue's friends offered her sympathy when they heard this, commenting, "Oh, wow! You must be so stressed! That's a lot of people to cook for!" She responded saying, "no, I am not stressed at all. Everyone will pitch in. We will each do a little bit, so no one should have to stress." 

When she recounted her conversations to me I have to admit that I felt pretty blessed to know that Sue was right about our family. Everyone does help out, each in their own way whether that is with a special dish that they enjoy making (or eating), or in keeping the kitchen clean, or running out for milk at the last minute. 

Often Thanksgiving, or any large holiday meal for that matter, can take hours to prepare for, but only a brief flash of time to actually enjoy. I felt so grateful that when we sat around the table together we took our time. There was a lot of laughter. Stories were shared, and thoughts as well, about what we were grateful for. We reflected on past holidays when grandparents were still with us. In quieter moments, perhaps between two or three of us, we opened up about what was going on in our lives back home. We spoke of challenges and disappointments as well as accomplishments and joys. 

Although some of the memories shared brought a touch of sadness, the main feeling that permeated our gathering was a deep sense of appreciation and gratitude. No matter how difficult life can be, it is good to know that there are people who love you. There are people who have your back and who want the best for you. I left feeling very grateful, indeed.

Dinner Party

It has been a while. It has been a while since Gary and I gathered around a table with more than a couple of good friends or family members. Last night that changed. All of us agreed to coming only if we felt well, and were up to date on the available boosters against COVID. When we walked in the door and found ourselves embraced in long-delayed hugs, it felt like a homecoming. Back to ourselves. Back to friendships old and anticipated. Back to being in good company for an enjoyable evening.

The conversation may have begun with some sharing about bodies and minds that were showing the signs of age in various ways, but we quickly moved on to more interesting topics. We spoke of gardens and preserving the produce, of meaningful projects and the things that inspire us to press on and contribute to making our communities stronger and more resilient.

When dinner was served, we were directed to specific places chosen for us by the hostess. I found myself sitting near a woman whose life journey held some similarities to my own, and yet our paths were different enough to offer us both interesting avenues of conversation to explore. Throughout the meal, which was delicious, different topics popped up around the table, drawing each of us out and encouraging full participation in the exchange of ideas and insights. Many of us are involved in activism in a variety of venues within the larger community, so the sharing of our work and our perspectives was interesting. 

I have missed community like this. I have missed gathering around a table knowing there was much to explore and learn from with the others who were sitting there. Too often, and particularly during the past few years, we have restricted ourselves to the people we know well and with whom we are sure to agree. There is deep joy in being in circles where we feel loved and accepted and held. There is also joy in discovering new people with whom to engage in meaningful conversation, and people we may have known for a while but with whom we have not had the opportunity to go deep.

When we take risks, when we reach out and get to know people in new ways, when we embrace opportunities to stretch beyond our comfort zone, we are building community. I even believe we are taking on the challenging work of building a more whole and healthy world. It is amazing what a seemingly simple evening can bring to life.