“Distribute the Surplus”

Permaculture….a series of founding principles for gardening and life.

This week was the Great Tomato Give-away. Because I love to experiment with new varieties and colors,  I always purchase and plant far more seed than I will be able to use. The first year, it was accidental. I just did not think “Where am I going to plant 85 tomatoes in two ten by four raised beds?” I planted, bumped up, pulled out the ones I wanted—and decided to give the rest away. Everyone was thrilled; my selection was more varied than theirs, so I introduced variety to the neighborhood. Since, then, I have “over-planted” every year. But, not really. I give away tomatoes on sunny afternoons in late April. I receive far more four inch pots than I send off, jam and green beans in jars, and a karmic blessing on the garden. It seems to be a fair trade. Which is good, because I realized a few nights ago, that I  way overplanted cabbages and broccoli.

Wildflowers in the Rain

Rain. Floods. Road Closures. Dark skies. It’s been a wet week here in the Willamette Valley. It’s hard to remember that we are half way into April and there are wildflowers and spring in the world. This afternoon, I went out to the arboretum to see what I could find.  The clouds had broken for a few hours and there was even a little sun for a few moments.

Fawn lilies are out in abundance of the sides of the trail leading up to Cronmiller Lake. There are toothworts and trilliums—pink and white—tucked into the rocks along the road. About half way up, I encountered just one turkey, browsing in the leaves. I wandered over to her, looking for her flock, but she was alone. She cocked one ancient eye towards me. We stood looking at one another, two women dressed in brown with yellow feet, out for an afternoon walk and a bit of peace and quiet. I nodded and turned away. She went downhill and I continued upwards. The lake was full of water and happy dogs, so I turned away quickly and headed into the woods. Red Currant, yellow Oregon Grape, more Fawn Lily, some Shooting Stars, and a little Bleeding Heart, just emerging, lined the trail. The world was quiet and smelled of deep earth. Mushrooms climbed over a downed log. Clouds came in and the skies grew darker.

About half a mile from the parking lot, the rains began once more. Covered in a raincoat, hood pulled up, I hastened back to the car. Rain pounded loudly on my head, blocking out the sounds of streams and breezes from high above. And then, right before I left, one more Fawn Lily marked the exit, four blossoms standing strong again the rain.

THe World is Run, revisted

I had lunch with my friend BA yesterday. We talked about the state of the world and our town. She raised the question, “How do we bring along the next generation of leadership?” It’s a good question—and the third time I have heard it this week. The League of Women Voters is asking the same question as is the library advisory board. I think it mostly about helping people find their homes, feeling sufficiently rooted in their places and their people that they are willing to spend hours and years protecting it. And then there is a bit of quiet nudging and perhaps modeling…I wrote this piece nine years ago. I think it is still relevant.

I spent the weekend at PeaceJam, a conference designed to “empower youth to make positive change in their communities.” Here in Corvallis that often means the sons and daughters of activist liberals, but the program was created to give kids who were looking at gang life an alternative way to impact the world.  That is one of the underlying vibes of the weekend. There were over 200 kids at OSU—bouncy middle school soccer players and older students with parole officers in attendance. It was an interesting mix, but it worked. The Youth had a grand time, playing team building games, learning about political action, and talking about peace as well as listening to a Nobel Peace activist talk politics at their level. The organizers didn’t really know what to do with the adult chaperones; I spent way too much time in a circle with fifty adults, dominated by five or six, lightly bored, wondering why I was there, rather than home  planting tomatoes.

One of the central rituals of the weekend is the Ceremony of Inspiration on Sunday morning. Anyone can stand up and tell the crowd who inspired them to work for peace and justice. The Laureate begins—her family inspired her. Kids troop to the front, talk about their families and friends, some living, some dead, who inspire and support them. Everyone applauds. When a kid talks about losing his mom to cancer, there are sniffles in the room. When another talks about her friend, the friend calls out from the crowd. “Love you, Ashley!”  I drift off, glance up to see Sandy, one of my old students, wearing an OSU sweatshirt, now  leading the Youth for the weekend, peering over the podium. “I’m on my tip-toes,” she said with a smile. “When I was in ninth grade, in my English classroom, there was a bumper sticker. It read ‘The world is run by the people who show up.’ It inspired me—so here I am. I showed up.”

And it is so true. The world is run by the people who show up. In Corvallis, if a dozen people testify, it can sway the council; the land use planners are more difficult. Enough letters to create a file folder on a specific topic can influence the state legislature. Clearly, as we have seen, every vote counts. So we have to show up. To move chairs so that people can watch a movie, and bring cookies so that they stay after to talk about it. To stand in front of the courthouse, silent, dressed in black, to absorb the anger of frustrated white guys in big trucks who shout at the “damn hippies” – never mind that some of those hippies were in Vietnam and know what happens in a war. And, sometimes, that means being lightly bored in an endless meeting—because you never know, never know, when you might inspire someone, although it’s probably not when you are trying to do so.