Category Archives: gardening

How Your Friendships Could Be Saving the World

The women in my family take friendship seriously. 

On a quiet afternoon sometime in the early 1950’s, my grandmother famously took a long bath in her house in England and came out of it deciding that she must take her dear friend Valerie to tea as soon as possible.  At a time when she didn’t have much money, she got out of the tub and picked up the phone to arrange to fly to New Zealand to meet Valerie the following week.  My grandmother had impeccable intuition.  She knew something was going on.  Valerie needed her.

My mother and her brothers never learned exactly what Valerie had needed.  Maybe she’d had a miscarriage?  A broken heart?  A broken bone?  Maybe my grandmother had needed her?  My grandmother took her secrets to her grave, only saying when she arrived back in England almost a month later that Valerie had been relieved to see her.

My mother taught me to nourish my childhood friendships, the way that her mother taught her.  Always gardeners, the women in my family cultivate their friendships with careful feeding, watering, and pruning, but without too much fuss.  A little black spot on the leaves or a few aphids on the stalks are greatly preferable to spraying nasty chemicals everywhere.  Basically, be there for each other and take it easy.  Take friends the way they are, and maybe they’ll do the same for you.

Thanks to this great family gift passed down from my grandmother to my mother to me, I have friends that I’ve been lucky to keep from preschool, elementary and high school, as well as deep, important friendships made later in life.

In the community garden where I have the privilege to work with some incredible kids and youth, I watch friendships between young girls grow and mature over the years.  I see how girls thrive on each other’s support.

Then, ages 11-12

 

Now, 3 dear friends, ages 16-17

I’ve noticed how, as there is no “best friends” button on facebook, many teenage girls are now “married” to each other.  In it’s tongue-in-cheek way this speaks to the importance of close friendships in girls lives.

I’m interested in what these deep bonds that often form between girls and women mean.  They are powerful.  There seems to be a current of support for these friendships that is only just starting to materialize for men as well in the culture at large.

When these friendships are nurtured over the years, building trust through shared histories and experiences, working through blocks, learning to differentiate in adulthood, creating healthy boundaries, sharing skills, knowledge, wisdom, and resources as well as fears, women are much more likely to reach their potential.

Friendships this flexible and exuberant are invaluable, often under-appreciated in the larger culture, and they are potentially revolutionary and world-changing.

Bestselling author, psychologist, and women’s and environmental rights activist Jean Shinoda Bolen writes in her book Like a Tree: How Trees, Women and Tree People Can Save the Planet about the power of helping just three friends, who in turn help three friends, until the circle wideness to one million in only 36 cycles.

When women support each other’s true spirits instead of a culture that tells us to shop, to worry about our weight, to underestimate our worth, to fear differences in ourselves and others, we are strengthened.  We are able create cultures of respect, nurturance, common sense, humor, and love of the imperfect.  We are able to support men in their deep friendships with each other and with women, friendships that have not historically developed the same cultures of nurturance.  We are also more able to open our hearts and lives to the wisdom of trans-gendered people and all forms of difference because we feel more comfortable in our own skin.

I am deeply grateful for my beloved friends, near and far. I know that step by step our friendships are making the world a more compassionate and saner place. Let’s celebrate these friendships and learn how to encourage them in each other.

Join the conversation!

Has friendship played an important part of your life? How do you cultivate and celebrate friendship?  Was it encouraged in your family growing up?  If so, how?  If not, what have you learned about how to encourage or support friendship since then? 

Everything you loved is gone

To be a nature person in 2011 means you are in touch with deep loss.  This poem is dedicated to all who are grappling with that loss and finding ways to heal.

Song For Perdita

Orphan, there is a door.
Look inside the hollow
where your thumb meets your wrist.
Or maybe in your elbow joint
in the center of the bend.
Or behind the armature
of your left shoulder blade behind your heart.
Slide your hand down your back
and feel it there.

The door is carved
from a two thousand year old olive tree
that grew in the garden of Gethsemane
with a coral handle traced with Dodo feathers.

Sometimes its rattled open by thunder.
Sometimes by the dry wind from a forest on fire.
Sometimes it is sealed with resin.

There is no light behind the door,
no darkness.
There are no swollen-eyed mourners or bloodied fists,
no wide boulevards or sand beaches.
No hunger.
No dreams.
A wail will lead you to the door
but inside there is no sound.

Only you can find it, you,
all the Perditas abandoned in all the storms.
It is never found in a grandmother’s garden
of carefully trimmed box and well-fed roses.

You have to walk instead to a wild lot
inside the footprint of a forgotten building
left to crumble and seeded by rubble growers—
fast thirsty greens that bloom with spiraling ghost flowers
under white skies.
Jimsonweed and bind.

Behind the door nothing is ever lost.
Slip in Perdita.
Slip in,
little lost one.

 

In Praise of Thorns: Day 5 of a week about Roses

You can’t have thorns without the rose. Be careful of them in the dark.” –Tom Waits

I loved listening to trickster Brer Rabbit tales as a child, especially the ending of Brer Rabbit and the Tar Baby. If you don’t know it, spoiler follows.  Brer Fox has captured and is about to kill Rabbit who keeps repeating something along the lines of, ‘hang me, skin me, burn me alive, just don’t throw me into that briar patch!’, Of course Brer Fox tosses him in and Brer Rabbit crows that he was born in the briar patch and hops off.

The briar patch.  Just don’t throw me into that briar patch.  As a child who spent countless hours playing in the Virginia woods, I walked through many a briar patch, which I called “the prickers”.

No one could get me, no one could find me in those prickly woods.  I learned how to  navigate the briars so that I could slip between them with nary a scratch.  In the places that got enough sun for flowers and fruit, I would nibble on the bright red rose hips in the fall and sometimes sit with the canes arching above me to silently observe snakes, squirrels, and yes, rabbits ambling through.

Thorns are boundaries, marking land that needs protecting.  My briar patch, full of tulip poplars, multi-floral rose ie. the prickers, and poison ivy,  had once been farm fields.  These plants were the first generation of fast growing, opportunistic species to reforest the area.  These ‘weeds’ are less invasive in more well established, old growth forests.  In my woods the briars ended where the old growth Walnut, Oak and Sycamore trees began.

Thorns can also act as nearly impenetrable hedges (around magical cottages perhaps). They are a sanctuary for rabbits and the occasional child.

Thorns are a necessary part of the rose plant, a species full of physical and emotional medicine for the heart and sexuality.  Wild roses are not easily trampled, not easily destroyed.  Drinking wild rose tea helps me to open my heart, embrace my sensuality, and strengthen boundaries at the same time.

In my soul’s forest, impulses that keep me from saying yes when I need to say no are like thorns.  They scratch if someone gets too clumsily close.  They reforest parts that have been clear cut.  They hide, mask, and shield.  It’s just as important for me to cultivate my relationship to the thorny canes as it is to the flowers and fruit so that when I’m thrown into a briar patch I feel completely at home.

I recently loved reading my friend, writer Karleen Koen’s thoughts on thorns in relation to her creative process on the publication of her new book, Before Versasailles: A Novel of Louis XIV.

Carmen’s Rose; Healing Trauma: Day 3 of a week about Roses

The rose has long been a symbol of the heart.  It’s also one of the first herbs I turn to when dealing with trauma.  When taken over time, rose can slowly and gently help the spirit and body to feel whole again, to come back home.  I’ve used it with herbal clients who have experienced rape and sexual abuse.

When someone experiences violence, either directly or by being a witness, there is a certain type of frayed quality that manifests as shakiness, inability to concentrate, and fear, even of soft touch.  Rose seems to ease this state and replace it with a feeling of grace and ease.

On a physical level rose gets the blood flowing after trauma has literally constricted the blood vessels, and it nourishes the nervous system and liver.  On an emotional level it opens the heart and restores people’s sense of beauty and awe both in themselves and the world.

There is a large tea rose bush in the Children’s Magical Garden, my community’s garden on the Lower East Side of Manhattan,  that was planted by the garden’s founder, Carmen Rubio, over twenty-five years ago.  Carmen was a low-income housing activist who started the garden with Alfredo Feliciano when the neighborhood was overrun with crime and drugs.  The site was painstakingly transformed from a burned down building full of garbage where drugs were pushed and shot up, to a garden where school children play to this day.

I’m working with current volunteers to assure the permanent status of the garden as a place of nature learning for the neighborhood’s kids.  Carmen’s rose, which blooms almost continuously from June through November, is a constant reminder to me of what can be accomplished with determination, heart, and bravery.

Recently there has been a string of domestic murders of women in the neighborhood, with the latest happening yesterday.  I knew the woman who was killed, as her son played in the garden when he was younger.

Violence and abuse of women happen so frequently that it’s easy to become inured to it, but when it happens to someone you know– a neighbor, a friend, a former classmate, it hits the place inside that’s always raw with this too-common tragedy.

Today I went into the garden and shared an impromptu pot of rose tea with two other gardeners as we discussed the recent tragedy and plans for the garden’s summer season.  The rose tea lifted our spirits, as did our fellowship.

The rose is both a symbol and a powerful physical medicine for the deep healing work that needs to be done in our world.

Rose Discoveries– Day 1

tea rose

Every day this week I’ll be posting something about the much misunderstood rose.  While having the reputation as the most romantic of flowers, I often hear people sneering at it.  The rose’s blooms fade fairly quickly in water.  If you don’t live in a climate that gets a lot of rain and cool-ish temperatures, it can be fussy in the garden.

But rose is an incredible healer, worthy of love and devotion.  There are aspects of rose that most people have never imagined.

Poet’s have long noted rose’s mystery.  As it’s Moonday, here’s one of my favorites, by Rilke, translated by Stephen Mitchell:

Rose, oh the pure contradiction.

Delight in being no one’s sleep

under so many lids.

Have you had the experience of thinking you knew all about something, only to discover later that it was so much more interesting/complex than you could have imagined?  What was it about?

“You can’t dry-clean a butterfly!” and other kid wisdom

I talked to a girl of six or seven through the fence of the Children’s Magical Garden yesterday.  She was standing on the sidewalk with her black-lipped little sister, who was sucking on a green lollipop.  They were both excitedly watching me water our giant dinner plate Dahlia, the garden’s new media star.

Dinner plate dahlia being watered by a young woman named Dalia.

The older girl started to tell me all about the growing needs of seeds, trees, flowers, and butterflies.  “A tree needs A LOT of space for its roots,” she said.

“You know a lot about gardening,” I told her.

“I watch the Discovery Channel,” she said shrugging, already self-deprecating.

“We’d love your help in here,” I told her.

“Oh, I would LOVE to come in, but my mom says it’s too dirty in there,” she said quietly, and then, raising her little arms above her head she said loudly, “I tell her, the whole WORLD is dirty!  You can’t pledge the whole world!  You can’t dry-clean a butterfly!”

monarch butterfly in the Children's Magical Garden '10

For the record, volunteers are working hard to make the garden less dirty-looking to the eyes of adults.  Scientific studies have also shown that children who get their hands dirty by putting them in soil have stronger immune systems than those who don’t, and may even have higher serotonin levels.

Oh wise poet girl… you give me hope!

*Dahlia photo by Peter Shapiro

*Monarch photo by Sara Grace

For the Summer Solstice, What is Ripening in Your Life?

Moonday. It’s a waning moon right before the summer solstice. Long days mean long shadows.  It may feel a bit more introspective than usual for the longest day of the year.  The moon’s waning shape, a time of darkening, of reaping and pruning, along with the recent lunar and solar eclipses this month may find many people turning inward.  For me this has been a period of deep dreaming.

The summer solstice traditionally marks the time of the first ripe fruits of the season.  In Prospect Park, Brooklyn, the wild cherries and mulberries have been ripening.  I ate my first red raspberry off the bush yesterday.  The baby cherry tree in the Children’s Magical Garden is seeing its first fruit.

It makes me ask myself, what’s ripening in my life?  What’s ready to be plucked off the branch?

I’m in the midst of the sixth draft of a full length play, Beat the Underworld Drum.  The baby analogy doesn’t work for the play because no creature I know is pregnant for over five years… (once I hit the five year mark it became ‘over five years’).  But  I also remember that when properly nurtured creativity can be like fruit… it simply ripens when the conditions are right.  No extraordinary effort is needed, maybe just a little gratitude for the sun and the rain.

What’s ripening in your life?  What are you ready to harvest?

The prayer we all know

Yesterday I practiced that basic prayer, the one we all know: ‘Help!’ said to thin air.  A neighbor has been calling the fire department every time she sees anything on our building’s fire escape.  Someone threw a rag out the window last week and it landed on the iron grille.  She called.  They came.  She has a vendetta against my mild-mannered superintendent, and when she passed me in the lobby last week she told me in hushed tones that she can get to him this way.

Yesterday morning, as I excitedly sat down to a day of uninterrupted writing with another volunteer manning the Children’s Magical Garden, (the community garden I run) no daytime appointments, and all my chores completed… the buzzer rang.

A very kind fire fighter explained that while it was ridiculous, the neighbor keeps calling and though they deemed it to be fine last week, I had to take my window-box inside, even though only about 2 inches of it touched the fire escape.

For years this tiny, 6 inch by 3 foot wide space has been my only private garden,  a scrap of growing life that’s just for me.  Recently I planted snap dragons, zinnias, and bush basil.  They most likely won’t survive on my sill without those extra hours of sun, but we’ll see.

It was  a brutally hot day and I’m fiery so this situation produced, to put it delicately, thoughts of the ‘Kill Bill’ variety, the Akira Kurasowa ‘Throne of Blood’ variety…  (Come to think of it, I could have eaten a snapdragon flower.  The essence is specific for this state.)

Snapdragon flower essence is great for fiery types who can go off at the mouth and tend to have jaw tension. I'd love to see snapdragon triage stations all over NYC in the summertime!

How to prevent the rage from taking over?  My Dancemeditiation practice transforms emotions, but I was too angry to try it.  I was too angry to pray.  I sat at my computer and said aloud, ‘help!’  Then I walked away and started straightening the house.  If I can’t be happy, at least I can have clean dishes and a made bed.

Something pulled me back to the computer about ten minutes later.  I had been sent a video poem by poet/herbalist Ekere Tallie.  And it was, as my poet/ herbalist grandmother would say, a hushing miracle.  My heart opened without any forcing, like a zinnia in the sun.  I wish the same for my neighbor too.

You can watch/ listen to Ekere’s poem here: Roots by Ekere Tallie

How do you recenter yourself after something has enraged you? Do you ask for help?

Formula for Everyday Miracles

Full moon in Pisces.  Here in NYC we’re getting a taste of fall with a series of cool grey rainy days, which makes this time super for dreaming and turning inward.  Last night I dreamt of a heart flame.  An elder put kindling on my heart.  Her soft fingers gently placed one tiny twig on top of another until the pyre was tall and firm.  The fire ignited on its own from underneath.  She blew over it gently until it became an illuminated pyramid.

I’ve just returned from the New England Women’s Herbal Conference in Vermont.  To say that the well has been refilled and is running over is an understatement.  The well has turned into a waterfall.

Before I left, I wrote about the threat to local community gardens and how I was having a hard time rallying to defend them.  It felt painful to have to explain their value.  It’s crazy that we have to explain it.  It should be obvious.   But I went to the community meeting anyway.

Despite being a scorching August weekday morning, there was a huge outpouring of support from all over the city.  Scores of people took turns at the podium giving heartfelt testimony on the importance of community gardens and their own deep personal connections.

It wasn’t frustrating.  It wasn’t draining.  It was invigorating.   I left with more energy to work on our little garden, knowing viscerally and not just intellectually that I’m not alone.  Not at all.  That’s what happens, almost invariably, when people get together for something good—something worthy and life sustaining.  It nourishes us.

The New England Women’s Herbal Conference was like that cubed.  I got to sleep on the earth under a canopy of pine, witch hazel, and birch trees.  I was in the presence of over five hundred earth loving women from all walks of life.  I dragged myself there on a bus that left at 3 AM with blind faith that my well would be refilled.  I had no idea about the waterfall.

I could probably write 10 different posts about the conference, but I have to tell you about the bath.  Curandera and ethno-botanist Rocio Alarcon initiated me and 31 other women into the art of spiritual bathing using the healing ceremonies of Ecuador.

I’m always trying to get my herbal clients to take baths in the plants.  The skin is a huge organ.   Plant medicine can be easily absorbed through the skin through the medium of water.  That’s the basic bit.  Then there’s the nourishing-one’s-self consciously bit.  Hugely healing.  When you add in the spirit of the plants, the Divine, and make it a communal event… well.  Its completely fucking miraculous.

Before the bath I was experiencing what in Curanderismo (Native Latin American curing traditions) is called susto.  Heart sickness brought on by shock.  My soul was a little outside my body somewhere.   On top of that, after an almost sleepless night of travel, I’d spent Friday using all of my powers to stay engaged and alert for the classes.  I’d skipped the opening ceremony, opting for a 14-hour sleep under the trees on the open ground.  I still woke up tired the next day, still contracted, my heart still ill at ease.

After the experience with the bath I became a skipping five year old.  Heart feather-light.  What I loved about Alarcon’s teaching was what I loved about the teaching of all of the elders at the conference.  They all said the same thing.  Its not about us.  You can do this.  You have to do this.  Its too late for masters and gurus to be the ones with all the wisdom.  Everyone needs to step into their own healing power.  This time requires it.  Everyone has to show up fully.

Alarcon gave us very little direction with the bath.  She got us in touch with the nature around us and harmonized us as a group.    She showed us the plants, let us chose the ones we wanted for the group, adding some lovingly harvested and hand processed raw Ecuadorian rainforest chocolate, picked a week before, and told us to pray over the plants first and to massage each other with the water.  We could strain the plant material or not.  I can’t tell you about the experience exactly.  Only that it was profound.  Lots of singing.  Laughter.  Some tears.  Profanity.  Disappearing and reappearing pots.  Oak branches.

When you put the healing power of nature and God (or whatever word you like to use for the Divine) together with the healing power of true community, miracles happen.  It’s a formula.  Simple. Hoping we all get it soon.  More and more.  The world is in susto.  We need some everyday miracles.

Learning to Give from the Overflow, not from the Well

There is a wise Sufi saying, ‘Give from your overflow, not from your well.’  I interpret this as meaning give from a place of love, joy, and abundance, not suffering and self-deprivation.

Today in New York City its a rainy Moonday, which feels good.  Its like a snow day for gardeners.  I’m taking some time for myself after spending a large portion of the last two weeks working on a massive volunteer project.  I’m the director of a kid’s community garden on the Lower East Side called the Children’s Magical Garden.**

 Kids love worms. They get super excited whenever they find one.

Kids, teachers from the School for Global Leaders across the street from the garden, parents, other garden members and I have been putting in a rain garden, a small native wetlands that soaks up the water in the garden’s lowest point.  When the plants have grown up some, it will not only look like a wild, beautiful place, but will also create habitat for more song birds, humming birds, bees, dragonflies, and butterflies… increasing the wildness in the city by just a little bit, and providing an amazing outdoor classroom for kids and adults alike. 

All of this warms the cockles of my heart and so I haven’t minded all the hard work, even though it has involved digging three feet down into ground consisting of broken brick, brick dust, rusted metal and the like.

My hands look, to quote a literary friend, “very Pearl S. Buck” with the ground-in dirt (even after scrubbing) giving them a mottled appearance.  On the upside, I can feel my hands getting stronger and think I would do alright in an arm wrestling contest.

This community garden is one of my greatest spiritual teachers.  Sometimes its lessons have been frikkin hard. 

Its a large unpaid undertaking and has the potential to suck up all available time– very dangerous for an entrepreneur and writer with a penchant for procrastination.  There have also been so many seemingly hostile elements to overcome such as–

  • Toxic soil. (Most NYC soil is poisoned with lead from paint and must be painstakingly amended or replaced with new, healthy compost.) 
  • Endless rubble.  (The garden was build on the foundation of a burned down building and has been sinking into that crushed foundation over the years.)
  • Ignorance.  (Very few people have any gardening experience, and therefore greatly underestimate the challenges the space provides.  They think it is simply a matter of planting flowers and watching them grow.) 
  • Personal conflict/ toxic relationships.  Toxic environments produce toxic relationships.  It has been challenging to say the least to work through personal difficulties with other gardeners.  In the end, however, it has also been deeply rewarding and transformational to all involved.  These transformed relationships have made this next, more productive phase of work/play possible after years of two steps forward, one step back.

What I have strongly come to believe is that service, to be truly effective, must involve the concept of what my Dancemeditation teacher Dunya calls dynamic reciprocity.   This means that the work actually feeds you.  The work leaves you feeling joyful, inspired, re-energized, more creative, more full of juice for your own projects.

Forget selflessness.  For most of us, its a trap.

Dynamic reciprocity goes beyond feeling good because you are “making a difference”.  That attitude of self-righteousness has the potential to slide into its own flip-side, an attitude I’ve felt many a time… martyrdom.  “I’m spending all this time and not getting paid.  My work isn’t appreciated, and yet its now somehow just ‘expected’ of me by the community.  The garden doesn’t look beautiful yet and so people don’t see all the hard work I’ve put in…” blah blah blah.

Then there is “Oh my gosh!  Look at me with my big ego wanting credit!  I’m not selfless enough!  This is about the earth, the children…” blah blah blah martyrdom.

I decided that this year I was going to pull self-righeousness and martyrdom out by the roots and compost them.  I’ve been planting joy and contentment in their place.

I’ve made it a point to focus on activites I adore such as mentoring a small group of local kids I’ve known for years who are committed to the garden and to listening/working with the earth.  I’m learning to better delegate the tasks that I dislike, such as contacting the parks department. (I actually much prefer removing rubble by hand than organizing on the phone.)

I have also reminded myself that it is because of this project that I was sponsored by the community to go to school to become a permaculture designer, something that has dramatically increased my happienss.

The past two weeks I haven’t had as much time to write, but all of the additional physical activity has magically worked out all kinds of kinks in the third draft of my play and first draft of my novel.  My third eye feels very open, and I feel tremendously grounded and focused in my herbal consultations after working so intensely with the earth.  Dynamic reciprocity is happening, and its truly awesome.

For this Moonday, I would as always love it if you have art/poetry etc. to share in the comments, and am also interested in where you have found dynamic reciprocity or rooted out self-righteousness/martyrdom in your own life…

**Children’s Magical Garden website still under construction.  Find lots of pictures of the garden on the facebook group, Children’s Magical Garden Community and Supporters

Thanks to friend, fellow Dancemeditator, and novelist Karleen Koen who first introduced me to the phrase ‘give from your overflow, not from your well’. I’ve been pondering it ever since.