How I’m Navigating a Topsy-Turvy World
It’s officially spring, which means field grown flowers aren’t far behind. It’s been a long winter and, frankly, I’ve struggled to pay attention to flowers or nature or all that is beautiful. My brain feels like I’m always watching a ping-pong match, head turning side to side as I flit from one alarming headline to the next. I’ve struggled to escape a spiral of dread and intense anger about the pain that has been levied on so many people. Outrage, incredulity, horror, and an enervating feeling of helplessness, these are the emotions that have taken up residence in my mind.
Peonies poking through the soil.
The news out of DC has also brought back memories of a time when I worked there, at the very start of my career, decades ago. I was a legislative assistant on environmental issues for a brave and honest Republican Congressman from my home district of Maryland. It was a wildly different era, and he was a man of great reverence for the natural world and a commitment to working with all of his colleagues. But what I remember most of my time with him was the days I would drive him from the hubbub of DC back to our shared hometown. While only a little over an hour from DC, the Eastern Shore of Maryland was a different land. Driving into the area with the soft diffuse sunlight shining over large expanses of open fields, I was sure I could hear the Earth taking a deep breath. I know that it was on those returns that I could also breathe deeply. There is an inexplicable release when you return to a home.
All the chaos of today’s world has made home, the large home of our country, unrecognizable to me. What I’ve realized in the last two months is that while I cannot hide from today’s reality, I do need to find home on a smaller scale, while I endure the current situation. A couple things have helped me.
The first was when I came across a quote from my guiding light in all things nature and beauty and politics, Margaret Renkl. She wrote: “Fury is a powerful motivator of resistance, but there is only so much rage a person can harbor without nurturing something cold and still and hard in the place where a warm living heart once beat.”
I took those words to heart. I was feeling so much rage with nowhere to direct it so I decided to focus on one issue, one that I know something about and one that I can speak knowledgeably about. I have been paying the most attention to the impact new policies are having on small farmers and communities like mine. I call my Congressman every week, and go to his office when I can. I share stories of farmers at risk, and I pay close and sustained attention to that issue. In that one respect, my home is large. I look outward, and I will do everything in my power to effect change.
The second thing I did was refocus my attention on my immediate home–my community, my farm, the flowers. This is a good month to do that. Perennials are slowly springing back to life, thousands of seeds need to be started, and many cold hardy plants need to go in the ground. I have nutrients to add to the soil and pesky spring weeds to get rid of.
Despite the chill and wind on some days, it feels good to kneel down and put my hands in the dirt. I know it is a cliche that gardening helps with grief, but the stories of people who turn to growing plants as a way to process sorrow are too numerous not to carry some validity.
While the news doesn’t seem to be getting any better, spring feels more hopeful to me. I see signs of resilience all around, from the bluebirds returning to their boxes, the daffodils offering their sunny faces, and the mountain mint pushing through the soil, despite the bitter, cold winter.
Finally, I pause frequentlly to appreciate this community that supports local flowers, a healthy ecosystem, and the beauty of the natural world. This carries me through on the hard days, that, and looking forward to sharing flowers very soon.
