Watermelon, Smoke, and Rainbows
Rich farmland– landscape that feeds the country.
I’ve been traveling in eastern Minnesota and western Wisconsin: a friend’s daughter’s wedding, family visits on both sides, book club presentations, bookstore stops. It is high summer. We put five hundred miles on my sister’s loaned car, most of it back country highways, verdant green farmlands, crops growing, landscapes familiar from my youth spent here over 60-70 years ago.
And also, hints that this is not the America of my childhood. I have been collecting random thoughts to serve as this midsummer blog.
One of the last remaining Dutch Elm trees which shaded middle America for most the 20th century.
On the day of the wedding the AQI (Air Quality Index) in Duluth, along the shore of Lake Superior where we lounged all afternoon in an extended garden party, was 189—dangerous to breathe. Smoke from Canadian wildfires yellowed the air. All athletic endeavors cancelled—no jogging, biking, doing anything to increase breathing and heart rate. Inconvenient for us: disastrous for the regions actually on fire.
view from our VRBO into the bay.
Meanwhile, flash flooding put millions of Americans at risk, and the search and rescue and disaster stories pile up out of Texas, New Mexico, New Jersey. People are swept away. Bodies may never be found. Families will have to find a way to move on. Trauma grows with every event: loss overwhelms my mind.
Ah, but here at the wedding, a couple is making vows to continue their love path, families gather whose values are long-held traditions. Teenagers splash into Superior’s icy waters, screaming in chill and delight.
Hot air: Cold water.
The path we were on as a society was not sustainable: the path we are on as a society is not a remedy. We are people holding together while things fall apart. We are parents raising little ones, young adults planning educations and careers. We are elders and grandparents worrying together, seeking wisdom among our peers. It is July, high summer. A grandpa carries a tray of watermelon slices to the edge of the grass. “Spitting range.” The children look confused: modern watermelon does not have seeds. Things are not the same. We continue to hold together. Things continue to fall apart.
Staring into the sunset, Ann shares a passage from the book she’s reading, Turning to Stone, Discovering the Subtle Wisdom of Rocks (Flatiron Books) by Marcia Bjornerud. Lake Superior is featured in the chapter on basalt. “Earth makes no distinction between creation and destruction.” One sentence. The words settle my heart: I am allowed to rest in not-knowing, in being present within a loving community, in sunsets when the sun is a smoky peach, in the sand between my toes and the bedrock of an active and evolving Earth beneath. And you, too. Rest. Regather. Restore.
For some reason, what comes to mind is an expression my mother used to use when something was perplexing or unsettling. “Lord, love a duck!,” she would say with a variation in tone and emphasis to go with the situation. I guess there was nothing else to sum up her feelings.
Must be a Midwestern expression… heard it many times growing up. Yes we are definitely in that stage.
I live in Atlantic Canada. I too, grew up with the expression ‘lord love a duck’. It was frequently used in my environment.
Wherever ducks fly… I guess the lord loves them. Take care dear peeps.
Thank you, Christina, for your wisdom: “ ‘Earth makes no distinction between creation and destruction.’ One sentence. The words settle my heart: I am allowed to rest in not-knowing, in being present…” May it be so for all of us.
Do you have a date yet for the next Reader Zoom Call? I want to get it on my calendar, when you are ready.
Waiting to hear from Molly–she’s off-line on vacation (well, of course because we all need moments of rest!) and we will be back in touch when she returns.
There lies in that one word both judgment and refreshment. I was reminded of the latter when I read your words: Sigh.
While some come from a long line of sires, I came from a long line of sigh-ers. In this minute I do so deeply.
breathe. blessing.
I have never noticed how powerfully you use parallelisms as you write. Of course, I love the point you are making, and I, too, am holding tight to the community of people I love and to the red rocks and sunsets that sustain me amid all that is falling apart. Oh, and I am teaching and writing. Please let’s talk soon. Beautiful work! xoxo
I’m working on my presentation for Sage-ing Gathering in mid-August, stretching out those presentation muscles again. Feels good! Yes–keep writing, Sandi.
We are spending a few days on awe inspiring Orcas Island. There is an orchard on the grounds of our rental cabin. There are dozens of apple trees, all over 100 years old. One has a hollowed out trunk from an ancient trauma but two strong branches rise from it, loaded with healthy apples. These trees are sending us a message about perseverance and survival.
Blessings
Roslyn
I think I know that farm… love to go to Orcas from time to time. Have a lovely time and persevere in your respite.
Sunburnt Mermaid near Westsound.
“Earth makes no distinction between creation and destruction.” A lesson I learned after being in a very destructive hurricane. Before that I only saw and thought about the creative side. In one night all of that was reversed as I saw major natural destruction. A hard and powerful lesson.
Yes, I remember this trauma story you carry, Suzanne. A hard and powerful lesson, indeed. And don’t you wonder what the area looks like now?
At the. moment I am finding it hard to look up and out. I am coping by planting two mulberry trees, a pink callistemon (bottle brush) and some raspberry canes, collecting and preserving my lemons, harvesting, pruning my fig and cooking and eating rainbow chard and fennel from my garden.
You are being the garden goddess–an important point on the wheel of life.
The reference to “things falling apart” always sends me back to the wisdom of Pema Chödrön. She’s spoken pretty exhaustively about the pattern of “things coming together and things falling apart”. The notion that fundamental happiness is always available to us is a comfort and I see it here in your words. We have to keep choosing, keep noticing, keep believing. After all, hope and fear are inseparable twins and I’m always grateful for the reminder. Thank you.
THANK YOU for your wisdom Bonnie Rae, and bringing dear Pema into the conversation.
“The path we were on as a society was not sustainable: the path we are on as a society is not a remedy. We are people holding together while things fall apart.”
Indeed. I struggle for words to keep hope alive for my adult kids. I encourage them to be present-to stay aware of the big picture but to bring their focus in; to find joy in what is happening in front of them, in what is tangible. I often think of you and Ann and mentally reach for your wisdom and perspective. Thank you.
That is the spiritual practice for all of us–joy is a form of defiance… and especially when raising the children, we need to help them see a path forward. Those of us with the most decades often have the most perspective… And we can offer this to those still accumulating their years. Love you.
“Rest. Regather. Restore.” Your words and those of friends who have replied give me this. Thank you, each and all.
Breathing deeply in the summer light.
Please share an update on release date for the audio version of your book. I have 3 friends who prefer audio to book and am eager to share the beautiful story you created, dear Christina.
Marti, there will be a big announcement. I think we’re almost there! love and soon…