April
18, 2020
The
river is still up above flood stage but dropping. Covid cases in the nation are holding steady,
Fauci predicts a decline, (Iowa is doing its own thing, so the state is up 89%
this week) and people are restless. In the news there rallies in state capitals across the country, group
protests mount to call for an end to government lock down. The bottom line is hurting, they miss
community. Yep, we all share those
feelings. And my cynical self suspects that these rabble rousers, itching to get
back to “normal,” are being coached by the president. Their rhetoric resembles
a Trump Rally. He misses them too, even has sanctioned their outcries with tweets of endearment. Meanwhile in Iowa, the vernal weather is quintessential, Persephone has made her mother beam with love. And we are the happy recipients of her
bliss. Parks are sensibly full, kids
playing outside. The wildflower
procession passes from Dutchman’s breeches to trout lilies, violets, mayapples
and white toothwort. The forest floor is
so profuse because the canopy is still bare and open, where the silhouettes of
limbs dance their shadows and creak it up with their closest neighbors. Governor Reynolds announced classes would remain
online until the end of the school year.
It’s still a mystery how and when the closing ceremonies will
happen. After week two, I hear that the
kids are tired of virtual school. It's really the community we all miss and mourn its slow return. Our regard and respect and concern for health
care workers and emergency responders keeps us home. There is bright breeze seducing us hikers like siren song. But the parking ticket
tucked under a wiper when I got back to the car, for having two tires on the
grass, deflates that caprice, but only for a moment.
Today’s
image – I explored the status of the local farmers’ market, thought about biking
there today. A video posted on their Facebook
page confirmed that they were open and in compliance with current public health
strategies and setups, germ-a-phobes paragon. A young woman
wearing a cotton gingham mask, her smile reflected in her eyes, spilled the days news about life at the market, complete with a walking tour of vendor stalls,
talking up the seasonal and perennial foods available. Locally grown and prepared
meats, eggs, cheese, kombucha, beer, wine, pickles, breads, cakes, pies,
flowers, and of course early vegetables.
Here is the traditional baseline for a supply chain. To live in this agricultural heartland, its prairies,
forests and marshes traded for more reliable cultivation and food
culture, begs for one simple change- to make the
farmers’ market an axis mundi for grocery shopping. Can't find it there, go to the store. Here is a life hub where we can know where our food comes from. (Well, maybe most of the time) And with so much up in the air and up for discussion about what will normal look like when we get back to it,
here is a reminisce from the Hopi Elder’s
Prophecy that was widely circulated when we walked into the new century:
Where are you living?
What are you doing?
What are your relationships?
Are you in right relationship?
Where is your water?
Know your garden.
It is time to speak your truth.
Create community.
Be good to each other.
And do not look outside yourself for
your leader.
We are the ones we’ve been waiting
for.
Today’s
idea – Balance might be a sister to patience.
We hold out both hands to weigh: where we are with where we want to be,
being still with moving enough so to not go crazy, being selfless with taking
care of ourselves, screen time with time
to gaze across the room or across the field, loneliness with resignation to do
our bit, caution with laughter, worry with surrender. I’ve lived long enough to understand there is
a vitality that comes with dancing in the tension between opposing elements or
ideas. And if this is true, the mood of
the nation could be a robust and healthy one, especially if we could manage
life moment by moment and pay attention to what is truly needed, to listen to
one another. And then there is that
pesky political tug and tussle between parties pulling the center so taut, it
feels like a trampoline, causing reactions to fly around with more force and
emotion than was intended or needed to be.
Is this infighting among citizens an effort to strengthen our political will? Is it just quibbling because we are afraid? Too often the roar of the populous sounds like
a petulant tantrum rather than a call for accountability and justice or for help.
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