Power of the Seed

We have no idea who planted the first seed. Who was the first participant in the mystery, magic and cycle of nature? Did they know that it would transform landscape? Did they know that at some point it would transform them as a culture, a civilization or just their own personal realm? did they know that they would change the course of human history? Was the seed found or gleaned? Was it a matter of the first gardener just paying attention, seeing a pod fall, unaided from the plant and burying itself into the soil, only to grow up - a miracle really. Or an accident? The seed gathered and then scattered by humans, flourishing months later the germ of an idea becomes planted in the mind? Bits of the flower, fruit or plant harvested and then the slow waiting, time and again, generation after generation?

The discovery of planting was probably born of need but it couldn't have been long before the first gardeners, over 10,000 years ago, recognized that more than just an empty stomach was being fed. We know that, in time, the storytellers acknowledged the mysterious forces that gave them the gifts of seed and plant, of earth and water, the cycles of the seasons, and of the moon and sun. Humans gave these forces names and forms, and offered them thanks. These ancient but once-sacred stories - preserved for us only as statues of now-nameless grain goddesses-are lost to us but later sacred stories-of the Egyptian Isis and Osiris, the Greek Demeter, or the Native American Changing Woman-remind us that humanity has always understood the provenance of earth's gifts as sacral in nature.

Nature is who we are. there is no separation!

The awesome power of the seed-its literal and symbolic promise of life, renewal, growth, death- must have changed how human beings lived on the face of the earth and their spiritual understanding. sowing the seed permitted them to settle, farm, and claim land as their own. Introducing or maybe enhancing what they already knew or suspected that the rhythm of life was real. What could be more important than not only becoming aware of the ever-renewing cycle of nature but being a part of it. It had to change the individual, the collective consciousness- a potent metaphor for human resurrection, reflected in the much later custom of the ancient Greeks, who kept a pot of seeds representing the household's dead near the hearth.

The cycle of nature-the progress from seed to fruition to dying-off and then renewal in the spring-was mirrored in the wild fields and the garden alike, while the fragile harvest- the possible interruption of the cycle by drought, wind, or other natural calamities-established the pattern of how humans understood the workings of the cosmos. The oldest of surviving sacred stories have their roots in the garden and reflect how humanity sought to understand the changeable patterns of their world and, at the same time, to imagine a world no longer subject to change. It's no accident that our own word "paradise" comes from a Persian word for an enclosed garden.

Gardening also helps us come to terms with the cycle of human life. Many of us tend to see our lives as linear, moving from birth to death at opposite ends of the continuum, but the garden teaches another lesson entirely. In nature, beginnings and endings, birth and death, are inseparable: implicit in the flower's blooming is its dying -off as well as its eventual renewal. The perennials in our winter garden-dead above ground, still awake below-teach us about time and hidden mysteries. The withered annual is a symbol for the larger pattern that extends beyond us and our gardens: Seeds borne by the wind and birds bring small pieces of our lives into other places and other lives, making new, if unseen, connections. Planting seeds makes us active participants in the cycle of life, while tending our gardens teaches us about larger patterns of the cycles that are beyond our control. We learn patience from the long wait from planting to sprouting to blooming, as we learn acceptance when nature takes its own course. We gain humility when we catch a true glimpse of the extraordinary complexity of the natural world.

So where we are, with all of these experiences to be shared; our lives are enriched when we understand that the seeds in our hands are the promise of tomorrow. With all of our senses engaged, seeing becomes understanding in the garden. Just as the medieval monks could see God's presence in His handiwork and could make it the starting point for a meditation, so too, we are learning to go into the garden to glimpse the "larger pattern"- regardless.

We Created A Monster!

Because of weather, either extreme heat or thunderstorms, two of the three days we closed the produce stand down early. On Saturday, Joe and I were sitting down to a just picked from the garden meal, and several people knocked on our dining room window to get tomatoes. Up Joe went and fetched the tomatoes. The following day after the thunderstorm, we closed early and to celebrate Joe's birthday wanted to take out the inflatable Achilles I bought him for his birthday that week. As we were dragging the boat out of the driveway, three or four people drove up and asked if they could just get a few things. So back to the garage to get more produce. Later that afternoon, we went up to the Schoolhouse to get some dinner (which was fabulous by the way) and when returning, there were people waiting in our driveway. I looked at Joe and said "I think we created a monster." A warm fuzzy, friendly, let us know how much you love us, Puff the Magic Dragon kind of monster....and we couldn't be happier.

Every single day, three or four people tell us how much they love what we are doing. It means the world to not only Joe and I but to Judy who has really helped and guided us in a huge undertaking. We do understand driving around the island looking for a fresh tomato. Eating something other than some wilted vegi is what started this whole shindig. There are so many of you that want organic food and/or your food to come from Michigan. And believe me this is no easy feat. If you go to Eastern Market almost all of the distributors sell crops that are out-0f- state. Only one distributor specializes in Michigan produce (his stuff is amazing). That is where I get the tomatoes, butter lettuce, melons (when he has them), cherries, blueberries, apricots and now the soda, salsa and blueberry/cherry products. The rest comes from either our garden, local organic farmer, Jackie or Don Dull, who has taken us under his wing. Speaking of wings, this is where I want to thank my mentor, Judy Jessup as her no-nonsense ways and big open heart is one of the reasons we are getting this right because my friends, this is a huge learning curve. Not only in what we should plant and how much, but buying wholesale and selling retail is another world that I barely have had time to investigate.

The journey continues, refining, planning and expanding. We are going to put in nine more raised beds in August. We would like most of the food to come from the island. It supports the whole idea of sustainability within the neighborhood and it is something we can all take pride in - especially if this could become more of a community garden. But baby steps are the only way to learn how to walk properly. So please be patient as we learn and find our way through permits in doing something year round. We will continue to expand on the cooperative concept and I will forge ahead on writing about our experiences.

Just a side note - some of you have suggested that we approach some of the other stores on the island to either bake bread and/or other products. We have talked about this, but really, what we are doing is not in direct competition with the stores on the island. What we wanted to do is something very different. If I begin to carry the same products they do, then I am competing and that is not our intention. We want to have Michigan made, in season and organic - that is our niche and something we can genuinely be proud of.

Sustainability in the Neighborhood Cooperative

One of the gifts I have been blessed with is the gift of paying attention. From when I was very young to the present, I just seem to see little things that others miss. Most writers have this gift as do artists. I read somewhere that "God" is in the details - and as I look around that seems to be true. The small Zennia bud bursting out of the green foilage. The birds flying back and forth from branch to bird feeder. The mother swan tilting down her wing so that her baby can crawl back on her back. The vegetable seedlings poking their little arms and heads through the soil. The sheets on the clothesline blowing in the wind. You would be surprised how many people do not stop to pay attention or as they say "smell the flowers".

When you are paying attention, hopefully in a non-judgemental way, many facts seem to be revealed to you. Which brings me to the next point. The more I look around, listen, study history and connect the dots, the more I know that the next step for us is to come together in a sustainable manner in regards to smaller communities. How do we rely on each other for what it is that we need? What is the best way to do this? How can it be fair and all -inclusive? These kinds of questions are something that I am asking myself and hence will begin to study and formalize as the answers are being revealed.

When I was younger, everything I let go of had claw marks on it. No matter how wonderful the new way might be, I was going to do it the same way because, well at least it was familiar. I came to believe by paying attention, that change is a good thing. We have wasted alot of time trying to keep things the way they are, even when they don't work. Our society has become increasingly myopic not seeing what the end result will be. And even though throughout history, the same mistakes were made, leading to the demise of very healthy cultures, we still haven't learned much.

I think the world is going a little wonky (that is putting it mildly), but it is too heartbreaking and really impossible to wrap my arms around "the world". All I can do is deal with what is at my front door or if you will, my neighborhood. If I/we can set an example, a model of what is possible, this can be a template for not only us but the neighborhood that is next door, and then, one that is next to that neighborhood and one that is next to that neighborhood....

In the next month, I am going to interview and visit other cooperatives so that I can have some sort of guideline to begin this. If this is a concept that appeals to you, please feel free to call me or stop by.

Let me say, that there are no politics in what I write about. I really am a political athesist. If someone like Ghandi or the Dali Llama would run for President, then I would go into action. But in the meantime, I will put my faith into something a little less human and a little more divine -like Mother Earth and pray to something bigger than me that we come to rely on and love one another.

Garden Friends

“There seem to be but three ways for a nation to acquire wealth. The first is by war, as the Romans did, in plundering their conquered neighbors. This is robbery. The second by commerce, which is generally cheating. The third by agriculture, the only honest way, wherein man receives a real increase of the seed thrown into the ground in a kind of continual miracle, wrought by the hand of God in his favor, as a reward for his innocent life and his virtuous industry.”…Benjamin Franklin

From the moment Joe and I knew we were going to have an organic garden, all of the pieces in our life came together. It was as if life was rewarding us for listening to our intuition and for doing the right thing. But the real bonuses began to happen as we met the people who live, play, visit and love the island. Some of you have grandparents who were born here or maybe you were. Some of our visitors have never been here before…but those of you who took the time to stop and tell us a little about yourselves, just make this experience a richer one.

What is it about a garden that thrills some of us and to share our stories causing us to become quick friends. Is it because the ego takes a back seat to what is real and natural without us even thinking about it? Why are we so intensely moved by watching a seed become a plant, become a flower, become a fruit or become something that we eat. I think it's because it is at the core of what life really is, a metaphor really. I am positive I'm not the first one to make this connection. But I do know that gardening has made me more patient, loving and moved me into connecting with mother nature on an hourly basis.

I hate when dusk comes, and I can't see my garden out the back kitchen window. I can no longer view the borage attracting the bees, as they become ecstatic on their little bluecocktails. Or the birds feeding their babies that live in the open end of the pole that holds up the clothes line. I can't see the monolithic catnip, where our garden cats, Minky Monkey and Buddy, along with the neighbors striped cat (we call him "Fella") lay hidden underneath looking a little bit like drunken sailors after a long time at sea.

But the next day begins and while I am setting up the produce stand one of my neighbors, on her daily walk, will yell out, "What have you got good this week, Kate?" Or the jazz singer and her boyfriend (singer too) who love the Kale and wander around the garden taking pictures. Then he told his sister about the kale, who is an anthropologist and is interested in sustainability in urban environments. I can’t get over the gal who is a truck driver so she can’t maintain a garden, missing it so much that she pulled weeds as she wandered through the raised beds. We had the conservator of the Belle Isle Arboretum stop by and admire the garden which thrilled Joe and I. If that wasn't enough, Debbie and her husband Mike, who have stopped by twice, brought a gift of beautiful tiles that she had her students make with names of the vegetables for me to hang on wires (I will be getting to that this week). He has had plants named after him and she is an artist with wonderful ideas and stories. My favorite being the one about the bee whisperer. Sunday, I met Kathy the muralist who loves it here in the winter, like Joe and I do and scans the island for junk which is one of my favorite past times. Or the incredible Karen who is a pond specialist and has a farm where she grows over 100 heirloom tomatoes and 50 types of peppers. So many of you have touched my heart and appreciate what we are doing.

It seems that as the garden reveals it's magic, relationships grow in tandem, all of us feeling, or at least I know I am feeling, that all things are connected, special and if we are lucky enough, are present enough to know when it happens. And that my friends is truly a gift

Maple Syrup

Almost as soon as we moved into our little cottage, in addition to having our organic garden, I knew I wanted to have a produce stand. The last couple of months have seen this dream become a reality. I am making connections with farmers, getting the stand built and planning the garden calendar.

But this morning was really something special. Judy Jessup (an old farmer herself) and I went out to see farmers about their wares. First on our list were the Maple Syrup farmers, Rich and Barb.

Rich and Barb Keller's farm is about 45 miles from where I live, located in Lennox, Michigan. After driving for sometime on a two lane highway, you turn off onto a dirt road, muddy from the rain with potholes the size of manhole covers. But that is usually part of the drill and since Judy was driving and because she is an old hand at maneuvering around those babies, I had nothing to fear. Almost instantly, Judy and I knew we were in "Farmers Heaven" as we passed signs hanging in front of one small farm after another; Sheep's Herd, Whole Chickens, Fresh Eggs, Hay, Firewood and finally Maple Syrup.

Rich and Barb were just how you think they should be. Dressed in their warm coats - with the dirt of the farm worn into the fabric, faces burned from being outdoors, proud with the results of their hard work. Though they were sturdy, you could see their bodies had taken a toll. Rich told us when he gets up in the morning his knees are stiff from the day before, but is grateful he has something to do that he cares about. Barb plump and round, I'm sure from eating too much of their product, smiles nodding her head. The Kellers make their syrup the old fashioned way - by burning wood, in a 14 foot high, 20 foot long still, housed in an old barn. In the back of their property are 1, 400 trees tapped for syrup. Already this year, they have gotten a fair bit of syrup, but have to wait for a freeze for more since the weather is too warm - who knew? He told us that most people get making syrup wrong (including the Agricultural Department at Michigan State) when it comes to knowing the perfect time to stop cooking this amber goo. You see, you judge it by the gravity (weight) of the syrup, not the stickiness - he said "Syrup is always sticky, so how the hell is that supposed to tell you anything?" I cannot tell you how good that fricking syrup is. Every last drop has love, passion, sweat, experience and well, the proper gravity.

Barb wobbles over, grabs the boxes and loads them into Judy's car. As we begin to leave, Barb tells me to give out samples - "You will sell lots of our syrup if you let them taste it". Still licking our lips from our sample, Judy and I smile, "Yep", I say, I believe you".

Portraits in Blue - The C Chord

Sometimes my old man would let me sit under the piano when he was rehearsing. He'd say to me, "If you're quiet, and I mean quiet, I'll let you sit under the piano. But you got to be real quiet." I'd sit under that baby grand with my legs crossed, afraid to breathe 'cause I might make too much noise. I would sit and soak in all them sounds, honey. One night, my dad asks me if I want to sit on his lap. I mean this was nothing he'd ever done before. He took his rehearsin' real seriously. Then he asked me if I wanted to learn how to play a C chord. He shows me where to put my fingers on them big white keys. And I got tell you I am concentratin' real hard, honey. I'm gonna learn to play that C chord. He tells me to keep practicing so that the next time, I can play it for him. I practiced that chord over and over again. He never came home after that night. I mean never. But you can bet I remember how to play a C chord honey. I still remember how to play a C chord.

The Preacher of the Delta Blues - Home to the Bosom of the Lord

Paula finds herself a man to fill up that empty space. Just like Krissi find her bad men and whiskey. The Almighty knows you never take a drink to say your prayers, wishin' the blues supposed to take care of all that ails you. The women don't care what it is as long as they find themselves somethin' else so they don't have to think what their hearts wants to think about. I ain't sayin' that the medicine won't work for awhile, cause it does, but then it will rear its demon head and leave you alone one more time with the blues. (Looks toward the women) There they'll be, the medicine don't work. That's when they gonna have to like things no matter how they are, cause if they don't no matter what happens it won't feel like anything has happened...leave them chasing dreams around. That's right, all of them will be chasing their dreams around. If only these women could believe there's a key to the kingdom waiting for them. But they just know the almighty would start 'em off in Hell and then move them from bad to worse Don't know the key to the kingdom is in their hearts and every time they open their mouth to sing they can feel that kingdom. The whiskey, and men and gluttony will stop all that. Yes, those sins of the soul will stop all that. It's time to cry old tears, tears so old these women can't remember what they're for. the tears that are telling them to go back home to the bosom of the Lord. Go back to where they come from . Let us pray.