Hand Splints, Heat Waves, and Climate Change

               My right hand is restricted by a plastic splint and it has been hot for several days. I am having flashbacks to 1988, when, using a hand scythe to mow down some big weeds in the side yard of my rental, I sliced open my right index finger. I knew right away it was bad. I grabbed my finger and hitched a ride to the emergency room with the guy living downstairs. A few hours later, I had stitches and a splint that held my finger immobile and extended for the next three weeks.  It was difficult to deal with my hair, but I quickly developed techniques for moving the mixing bowls at the bakery around and for pounding butter with the rolling pin.

                !988 was a really hot summer. Starting about the same time as my injury, the temperature in Portsmouth N.H. was over 90 degrees and humid  every day for six weeks (and Portsmouth is full of ocean breezes…).  Mark remembers it being hot in Tennessee. It was so hot and dry in the wheat growing west that the bakery had to raise prices that autumn when the cost of grain skyrocketed. It was hot. 1988 was also about the time we began to hear about Climate Change and its coming impacts on the world. It was scary stuff. “Is this what it’s going to be like with global warming?” we all asked. It was a general question, discussed on the news and over the counter. It was also non-partisan.  Almost everyone, democrat or republican, was aware of the science and part of the conversation.  And there was some movement to make changes to mitigate the worst of the damage. And then…

                It is thirty years later. Another accident. Another splint of plastic that causes my arm and fingers to sweat and swell in the heat.  And we are still talking about Climate Change. “Is this what every summer is going to be like? Hot, with wildfires all of August?” we ask. Unfortunately, the changes we need to make to mitigate the absolute worst effects of Climate Change are much greater than they were in 1988. If, in 1988, we followed Jimmy Carter’s lead, turned down the heat and put a sweater on, installed solar panels, insulated houses, invested in public transit, etc. we would be in a much better position right now. We could go gracefully into a new era focused on renewal energy rather than fossil fuels. Now, we have much more difficult decisions to make. Nuclear energy? What neighborhoods/cities/regions do we rebuild after big storms? Which do we let go? How do we support the huge rural population that lives throughout the country, the people who cannot walk to any services they need every day? What do we do about forest fires and the people who live in the woods? Not to mention the rest of the living beings on this earth. These are huge, complex, systemic questions. And time is running out. We do not have another thirty years.

               

One Handed Gardener

What you can do with one (and a half) arms in the garden:

1.       Weed

2.       Transplant (85% survival rate)

3.       Mulch

4.       Direct seed

5.       Hand water with hose or watering can

6.       Harvest strawberries

7.       Break up clods to prep beds

8.       Haul hoses around

9.       Trim out the beds, slowly

10.   Clean up drying bulbs

11.   Paint the plant signs

12.   Fertilize the berries

What you cannot do with one (and a half) arms in the garden:

1.       Set up the new irrigation system

2.       String up the bean vines

3.       Move a full wheelbarrow around

4.       Create a new rabbit fence

5.       Tie anything

6.       Turn compost

7.       Move the chicken coop

8.       Catch a chicken or a rabbit

9.       Take photos

What you should not do with one (and a half) arms:

1.       Pitchfork a bed

2.       Clean out the garden pool

3.       Haul hoses around

Despite limitations and with some serious help from Mark, the veg. garden is planted, irrigated, and mulched.

silence

so, i broke my arm avoiding a truck on my bike. my bike is fine: my head is fine, but i am working one armed....there will be a post soon on the challenges of putting in the garden one handed.:)

Stacking Functions

One of the principles of Permaculture is the idea of stacking functions—making one object do more than one thing in a design. For example, the fig tree in front of our house provides shade in the heat of summer, a privacy hedge between close-set houses, and way more figs than we can eat every fall.  When we are designing gardens, living spaces, or curriculum we want to ask ourselves—does this idea have more than one use? Does it meet several needs?  If the answer is no, we should go back to the planning stages.

In the garden, stacking functions looks like adding mulch to the garden beds when the plants are big enough to peer over the straw. Mulch  keeps the water from the soaker hoses close to the plants, reduces evaporation, cools roots in the middle of heat waves, and breaks down to add organic matter to the soil.

In the house, we may use one big table for food preparation and eating, doing housework, and as a desk. Or water may wash the clothes and then irrigate the front yard ornamentals.  

When I ask students to write a paper, I am looking for several skills. Can they write a thesis statement and follow through on the promise? Can they support their ideas with examples? Do they show a fundamental understanding of the book we have just (in theory) read? Does this book, and the lessons learned, help them become better students and citizens?

How does this relate to Climate Change? If we want our planet to survive, we are going to have to learn how to do more with far less. We have to design our living  spaces and cities to stack functions, to be flexible in use, and to reduce energy consumption. Stacking functions is an excellent place to start.

“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.