5/10/11

5/10/11
The weather was absolutely fantastic. Sunny, 75, with a kissing breeze. Hot enough to wear a tank top but with enough wind to cool the sweat on your body when working in the sun. The elders from the Kogi and Hopi tribes are still here after a weekend of pow-wow with the other tribes who have now all gone home. During the past week the staff has been welcome to participate in the opening ceremony at the fire pit hosted by the Mohican tribe or be audience to the many elders' talks in the conference center. This meeting of elders from N & S Americas was monumental, possibly a first. And if not a first, many moons have passed since they have last spoke. Something to be witnesses, yet I stayed away and busied myself in the garden.

Kind of scared or nervous, believing that there was something sacred about these meetings, I did not attend. Talks among first peoples, a group for which I do not belong. I felt that whatever was going down in those talks was none of my business, even though they were talking about the state of my earth too. The inner circle was made up of elders and the outer made of those not allowed to participate in the conversation... to only listen, the non-natives.
But I could not just sit and listen, I would have to hold my tongue and keep my thoughts to myself and I find that very difficult and quite unnecessary, actually. Why is my genius and wisdom not allowed to join the club?
I was struggling to be a part of what was happening without compromising my belief that we are all sacred, not just those with ancient cultures. I felt crazy for thinking of bringing it up in conversation, to seem disrespectful; but it was all I had to say. I felt it in my gut and that's never wrong. I needed a way to relate with the elders without having to be opinionated. In a way less business, and more play. They had been here for 4 days and I hadn't even met them.
The anxiety of wanting something so bad, yet not knowing how to get it was paralyzing. I was in that stretch of learning something new, where you search everywhere for the answers, but cannot find them, stressing out with worry. It's that wonderful moment of clarity that comes after you've thought of everything... the levy breaking. That sweet release when you surrender and let things happen as they will. This I live for. I did not need to figure out how to communicate with the elders, it would just happen.
My housemate Jr. has been the Kogi's go-go. He drives them around, feeds them, makes sure they have what they need. At the end of his long days he comes home and we talk about 'what the natives did today'; what they spoke of. The Kogi live at high altitudes in the Sierra Nevada mountains in Columbia where the snow pack is recognized as the life force. Everything below is fed by the melting snow via rivers and springs. Lately the pack hasn't been as abundant, the valley below drier than in the past. The weather is changing.
They have come here to NY with a message to the world that we are taking too much and not giving anything back. This isn't hot off the press news. Any logical, well adjusted, conscious person can see the rapid pollution and destruction for profit. The greed. The planet rape. The slash and burn of lands as well as it's people for centuries. Why have they chosen now to bring this message? Is it 2012? Is the shit really going to hit the fan soon? Who knows. I do know life has shown me the same answer as the elders bring, to give back. To return the earth's offerings to her.
And that's exactly what happened this afternoon. It was still a beautiful day. I had set up the rinky dinky greenhouse bought for me. Cheap 'made in china' pole framing covered by what closely resembled two shower curtains zipped together. Crappy, but suitable for housing my seedlings trays. A great space to harden them off, acclimate them to the outdoors after growing indoors under florescents in a windless room with controlled heat since their birth.
So I staked it down and filled the shelves with trays filled with hundreds of seeds I grew. I checked on them this morning, opened the zippers for air flow, and again at lunch.
After helping out in the kitchen all day, I returned to my garden to find the wind had uprooted the shanty greenhouse and tossed it into a crumpled mass of plastic and bent metal. Snapped plastic, and of course an army of dead seedlings half buried a pile of soil, lay up against the fence.
At first I felt like I was being punished. For what I am not sure, but I was sure I deserved it. I almost shed a tear, took a deep breath, and salvaged what I could which were mostly tomatoes, peppers, and sunflowers. I took this as a sign that these were the chosen plants. The ones that survived and were ready to kick some ass the season. Hee-yah! I had to find reason in the wind's madness. Why my garden was the wind's sacrifice to the earth or St. Francis. Acceptance. Just another bump in the road. It will only make me wiser and more beautiful. More patient, inventive, and crafty. I'll even thank the wind for the challenge. Gracias viento.

As I spoke to others on 'campus' later they too had felt the wind. Just a single gust that blew the curtains and rattled the blinds. It howled through the trees and swept pollen through the valley and back up the mountain. This gust was noticed by most, unlike the other winds today.
While this wind was blowing, the natives were speaking of the concept of giving back to our mother... I am honored to have such a special wind take my seedlings and give them back to the earth. I will recover and the garden will go on.
Giving back by being a gardener is my answer to heal nature, and we are a part of nature, not separate. To turn the soil, plant the seeds, and grow. A magical perfect cycle. Complete, sustaining, and self-sufficient. I only nurture the process. I am lucky that my passion is my work and vice versa.