ThanksGiving

Pumpkin boy
Photo courtesy of Samara

When I was a little child we always spoke the following simple prayer before each meal. With Thanksgiving approaching it seems like an appropriate time
to bring it to the fore. And in honor of the many readers from around the globe who have visited this blog I am offering this same prayer in Spanish, in German and in French. May it touch a cord far and wide and deep.

Thank you for the world so sweet 
Thank you for the food we eat
Thank you for the birds that sing
Thank you, God, for everything 

Gracias por el mundo tan dulce
Gracias por la comida que comemos
Gracias por los pájaros que cantan
Gracias a Dios por todo el mundo

Danke für diese liebliche Welt
Danke für unser Essen
Danke für die Vögel die singen
Danke dir Gott für Alles

Merci pour ce monde si doux
Merci pour la nourriture que nous mangeons
Merci pour les oiseaux qui chantent
Merci Dieu pour tout

May this be a time of reflection on all we have to be grateful for, and a time
to celebrate those many gifts with those we love best.

Love and blessings,
Kathryn xxoxo

Grandmothers in the Garden

It was my Grandmother who somehow inadvertently taught me that there was a relationship between the plant and a caretaker. That if you watered something and paid attention to it, it would grow. Even flourish. Mind you I don’t have any recollection of my Grandmother ever gardening. The sheer suggestion that my Grandmother would ever have her hands in the DIRT is impossible to imagine. She was far too regal and well appointed. Nails done, hair coiffed. Accessorized. That sort of thing. However I firmly had the impression, and continue to solidly believe, that any living plant which arrived in her hands was in capable hands and thus ensured a stable, healthy life. Ironically (and quite fittingly) the only plant I actually recall associated with her hands, which I can with confidence point to, was a piece of ivy which (the story goes) a friend smuggled back into the States after surreptitiously snipping it from Buckingham Palace (or was it Windsor Castle?). My Grandmother would never see either, (though there was that courageous journey to spend a month with me in Amsterdam–does that count? I suppose not…) but there at her senior apartment on the front patio that ivy wound its way up the wooden columns in a most majestic manner and spilled out over the walkways and up the roof like it somehow intuited it was appropriately in the care of the most noble of persons and thus thrived. And that was that. And that is all I remember of Grandma in a garden.

Oh there was a fenced in rose garden in our lovely back yard in Ohio when I was a child, but that garden was always attributed to my Grandfather, whom I also never actually saw working in it. (They must have had a gardener tending it during the day while I was at school.) Nevertheless my intention is to talk about Grandmothers in the Garden, and so I put these memories in their place and move to the world at large and to the living. And this brings me to Betsy.

Betsy was one of the two greatest gifts I received in my two-year adventure of
living in North Carolina. (The other was my yoga teacher.) I met her as I wandered through the labyrinth of churches of Appalachia. Because that’s what you do in the South. You go to church. People invite you to their churches. It’s a courtesy and a welcoming. Of the dozen churches I visited, one of them was the Unitarian Church–never quite religious enough for my tastes, but still high minded–and it was there I met Betsy (and her lovely husband, Al). And she basically adopted me, thank God. And upon gradually learning of her extra-ordinary skills and interests, I proclaimed her to be my Chosen Mother. I was so touched when they invited me to visit them in their home in a nearby community, and upon arrival I was met with this lovely row of Bradford Pears.

Bradford Pears

Betsy and Al, it turns out, are among those bi-nomadic couples that spend summers in New England and winters in the warmer South. Every summer Betsy and her husband head north where they are soon joined by their five grandchildren who all live abroad. In true grandmotherly fashion, because she has missed the individual birthdays of her five grandchildren, whom she
adores, Betsy hosts a grand collective birthday party in the garden. All year long she plans for this event and buys several gifts appropriate for each child. The day of the grandchildren’s birthday party she hides each of the gifts about the property, and then she presents each child with a poem she has written for each and every gift, offering clues where they might be found! (Do you believe it?) Here is a sampling:

for Verity, age 11:

Your creative side shines through
Both here and across the sea
To stimulate your talents
Is a gift by the tall pine tree

for Aidan, age 13:

Because you are a sprinter
Destinations come up fast
So when you get to the mailbox
You’ll find a present at last

for Django, age 8:

Imagination defines your being
Your illustrations are the best
A gift to enhance your drawings
Hides under a bed for a guest

Cherished grandchildren frolicking in the garden under the loving wing of a creative, caring grandmother such as Betsy becomes the stuff of shared lifelong treasured memories. Using our gardens as the stages for such beautiful family rituals, they become forever imbued with the energies and joy of those we love. We should all be so lucky.

The Bee (and the Backyard Garden)

Bee150

Picture this. It’s my birthday. I’m at a fancy schmantzy spa swimming in a big blue pool filled with natural mineral springs. Back and forth. It’s nice. But I’ve chosen to spend this birthday alone, and at that moment I’m revisiting that decision, possibly regretting it just a teeny bit. And that’s when I see the bee.
You know how it happens. Bees and flies and moths and bugs end up on the surface of pools with chlorine in them and that’s really the end of their lives. You know it’s true. So it was suddenly a bit of a bright spot to be able redirect my teeny naggy feeling into helping this little stuck bee. I slipped off my paddleboard (yes, I was paddleboarding; it was my birthday), and slipped it underneath the stranded creature and left her safely on the side of the pool to dry.* I hoped. I also hoped it wasn’t too late. She was stunned, but I figured she could recuperate. She was just weighted down. So I continued my swim back and forth across the pool in laps, now, and each time checked in on her to see how she was doing. Hard to tell. After a few laps I began to worry that perhaps I should move her more into the sun and less in harm’s way. What if someone stepped on her? Prepared to do this I arrived once again at pool’s edge, and at that very moment, happily, she lifted off and flew off into the air, to continue her way. I want to say merry way, but given the state of the bee these days, I’m no longer sure it’s that merry.

Probably a lot of you watched the CBS piece on the plight of bees. If not, you’ve by now surely been exposed to a variety of theories about what is happening to them, as in, they are disappearing, or dying or both. And first it was the Cellphone Theory (they are disoriented by the waves and can’t find their way back to their hives); now it’s the Virus Theory (and I guess there might be something to that). But how about this. (Duh.) They are stressed out of their little bee minds because commercial beekeepers working for agribusiness are dragging them around the country on flatbed trucks carting them here and there and wherever they are “needed” to keep these conglomerate megafarms in business with no regard whatsoever for what that might actually be DOING to them, poor things. Like compromising their immune systems?? Or throwing them into unfamiliar environments, far from home where they don’t even know where to find water??? Combined with the ongoing use of pesticides and insecticides perhaps the poor little creatures are saying to us, in their disappearance, “I can’t do this anymore.” So the concept of saving one little stranded bee in a pool is about as far from their unconsciousness minds as one could get. And it’s nothing “personal”; it’s “just business.” As if the fate of the honeybee had nothing to do with us and our lives. Or that we should even care.

Which brings up the obvious. We have to start growing our own food. As in, in our back yards. And, we have to, have to, have to be planting flowers and trees and herbs that attract bees and that nurture them. And we have to LEAVE THEM ALONE and let them do their marvelous bee thing. And let them swarm where and when they want to. And protect them. We have to stop using pesticides and all the garbage we put into the environment that is making them sick and probably mutating the heck out of billions of years of natural programming and let them be. Let bees be is my basic message. Maybe someone would like to come up with a bumper sticker. Be my guest.

My friend Jack keeps bees. He’s been keeping bees for 32 years.

jack
He and his wife sell wonderful local honey at the Saturday morning farmers market. I have bought a lot of honey from Jack. I don’t know why. He finally asked me one Saturday, “Uh, how much honey do you HAVE?” I’m not sure. But a bunch of very large jars. It is the only food which keeps. As in forever. Fancy that.

So I asked Jack, “What about the bees? Are you noticing colonies collapsing?”
He’s not. (And this is apparently a common response among organic beekeepers.) Jack does not cart his bees all over creation. They stay right around here. He did notice that some hives were swarming a little late in the season, but he caught them and fed them and they did fine. Jack says that strong colonies going into winter make strong colonies in spring. Weak colonies going into winter “probably won’t make it.” I asked him about my stand on backyard gardening. He says, “You won’t get rid of agribusiness, because there would not be enough food. But, yes, if people started growing and buying locally it would allow bees to stay in the area, not be moved around, and it would not only be better for the bees, it’s better for the economy.” It’s also better for the environment because we wouldn’t have as many large trucks on our highways trucking food in, using up fuel and spewing fumes on our roads and into our air. The list goes on. Jack says if more people would buy from local growers (either at farmers markets or by asking their local stores to supply fresh local produce, which, thankfully, is a growing trend) more people would grow food locally because they would see there is a market for it. And all these minor shifts would support the honeybee populations. Your choices make a difference.

And get this! Jack says that if we grew more of our own food it would not only help the honeybees, it would support the native bees (there are native bees??) who also help pollinate our food. And I love this part. They are solitary bees (which might be why we never hear about them). They don’t build big colonies like the honeybee (who were brought to this land from Europe on a ship, you know). So it is much more difficult to collect and manipulate this other class of bee. Jack says that, worst case scenario, if the honeybee did get wiped out (God forbid) due to our ignorant and abusive treatment of them, and we were dependent on the native bees, they would have to set aside tracts of land for them, a safe habitat that would attract them, and plant things they liked and we’d be eating that. Because, again, these bees can’t be roped in like the immigrant honeybees from Europe. Wouldn’t that be an amazing trick of nature?

So back to simple practicalities, here’s what you can do:

1. Buy locally grown veges and fruits. (This is no “sacrifice.” This is a delicious treat that your body will thank you for.)

2. Grow your own. At very very least, start an herb garden. And isn’t this
convenient? Jack says bees LOVE all the herbs. They love rosemary, sage, thyme, lavender, mint and basil! Again, by doing this, you not only get good karma by helping out the happy bees; you benefit enormously for having fresh herbs at your fingertips a good part of the year. There’s no comparison. Once you start this practice you will wonder why you never did this before. [Thanks to my lovely friend Amy in Arizona who taught me to expand my herb repertoire.]

3. Plant flowers and fruit trees that the bees love. (And here is a special secret. Plant something like Texas sage, or bottlebrush, and when the purple (or red) flowers come into bloom go out early in the morning, pre-traffic, if you know what I mean, and just stand very quietly next to the bush and LISTEN. You will be completely enchanted. Really.)

4. Do NOT use pesticides. Just don’t. It’s bad bad bad for the environment–your environment. Don’t soil your nest.

5. Teach your children to love and respect bees. For the most part, if you don’t
bother them, they won’t bother you. Jack the beekeeper says that bees working the garden are not going to sting you or be aggressive if you leave them alone. It’s getting near their hives that might make them cranky or defensive.

*All honeybees in the garden are girls. The boys do one thing and one thing
only: they mate with the queen. That’s it, folks.

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