Green Tribe of Belonging

  At the End of the Path Walking east in the sharp air of fall, tracing the edge of harvested corn, along the smoothed way of tractor tread, a south wind makes the grasses move like waves,  and the distant slope calls to me. Halfway to the field’s end, there to the left, a track branches off and down. It goes straight and purposefully into the low pasture, toward a stand of new saplings along the streambed, red and gold leaves catching the early sun, shimmering, beckoning to me. My feet decide, as I turn to follow the path, imagining deer and perhaps a fawn seeking shelter during the heat of day near the creek banks, under the trees. Or it might be a coyote,  night’s ramble over and heading home. I feel excitement, walking carefully on the path of mysterious others,  heading down through matted grass, wanting to follow, not knowing what I’ll find. Then the path turns suddenly  tacking west toward a rugged oak tree, old, weathered, a few leaves showing signs of l...

  Sitting with the Cabbages It happened at dusk one summer evening,   resting on the soft grass   in the margin between garden and lane,   my children quietly playing in the distance. During the day   I weeded this garden,   hoeing, tending. Now, during shimmering moments    between day and night,   I sit at the feet of cabbages,   strong green leaves stretching upward,   radiant in the subdued light. What is this intoxicating influence   that leaves me rapt and motionless?   I sit in still-point,   boundaries blurring,   feeling my breath,   in and out,   as if we all,    plant, tree, human,   are being breathed by something larger. For many moments, or maybe only a few,   I forget who I am,   held in an invisible    web of all that is. And then (can I believe my eyes?)...

  Seed Audacity Who could imagine this tiny dry speck,  with a little water, a little warmth, could transform? Looking like a crumb of dust, dead and dry, blowing softly in the wind, It comes to earth to land on damp soil. There it summons up its hidden life force, transforming sunlight and water into a green, vigorous addition  to the kingdom of plants.. The audacity of nature is beyond understanding.

  This is a reminder to mark your calendars for our meeting this coming Saturday afternoon, 2:00 at Prairie Hill Cohousing, 140 Prairie Hill Lane in Iowa City. Our program will be an exciting one about Oak Trees. Here's what Mary Kirkpatrick has written about it: Our meeting will focus on the state tree of Iowa which is the oak tree.  No other group of trees is more important to both rural and urban forests and landscapes in Iowa.  Oak trees provide homes for many species of wildlife, sequester carbon, build soil, and provide leaf litter that nurtures life. Before European settlers came to Iowa, the land was covered with prairie and oak-hickory savannah which is a fire-dependent ecosystem transitioning between prairie and forest, characterized by scattered, open-grown oak/hickory trees. Our speaker will be Jim Walters, a retired University of Iowa groundskeeper who grows many oak seedlings from acorns he collects around Iowa City.  He shares these seedlings with...

  Plant Talk The tallest tree reaches up toward the ceiling, swaying as the kitten climbs its narrow trunk, making an appetizer of some lower leaves.  “Why don’t they eat your leaves?, she asks, glancing down at her shorter neighbor. “Sorry about that”, says the ficus. “But soon we’ll get carried outside. We’ll be safe there for the next 6 months!” In the next room, a plethora of seedlings push up into the light and nod to their new neighbors. “Who are you?” says the tiny green cabbage. “I’m the daughter of a mighty cucumber,” says the large bud just pushing out of the soil. “I’ll be longer than you, but shorter. Do you hear that music coming through the wall?” “I like it,” says the cabbage. “Makes me feel like growing strong!” Meanwhile the multitude of tiny poppy sprouts, packed too closely together, murmur to their sisters, “Let me have some room!” And a less crowded dill plant says “Don’t worry. She’ll be in soon to separate you. Brace yourselves. It’s a bit tough, but soo...

We're all born with an impulse to protect ourselves, carried over thousands of years from our early ancestors. When something threatening comes along, our senses are triggered and we either prepare to defend ourselves or if it's too big a threat, we run. That response is in all of us, and when we hear about the appalling things happening in our government these days, this fight or flight response impulse is triggered every day. It feels like we're a world in peril, which is true. What has changed is that it isn't a lion or poisonous snake that we need to defend ourselves from. Instead, it is something far away over which we have very little control. Yet our nervous systems are still buzzing with the danger. And it is there. It is not fun to be always under this threat. And tends to take our attention from other things that are actually beautiful and inspiring. So for a couple weeks, though really busy with responsibilities, I've been collecting the good things. And ...