Day 92: Tackling the Big Stuff

Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California

June 17, 2020: Tackling the Big Stuff

The biggest presence in our garden is the one I think about the least. I don’t even know what kind of tree it is, but though its trunk takes little space, the tree’s shadow reaches almost every corner of the yard. And then some. It determines what we can and cannot grow. It's not a particularly attractive species, and its spring blossoms make John sneeze. When we asked our more learned neighbor what kind of tree it was, he answered succinctly: “A weed.” It certainly grows like one, and sends up shoots we’re always trying to keep from making more. This tree is the last of a group of four, all of them volunteers. It was trimmed to half its size when we cut the others down, but the monster has grown to some 40 feet since the garden was put in. We know it should probably go completely, and we can see how much brighter and more in-scale the garden would look, but we can’t imagine how even professionals could get it down without destroying everything underneath, and removing it would turn our shade garden into sun. The whole thing’s much too hard to tackle, so we keep our eyes to the ground, ignoring it.

Yesterday Quaker Oats announced it was changing the name and logo of Aunt Jemima syrup and pancake mix because the two are “based on a racial stereotype.” Really? Pardon my skepticism, but just when did the company figure that out? They’ve been defending the brand for decades because Aunt Jemima, they said, was a part of our shared ‘history’ (not a history, perhaps, that some cared to be reminded of over breakfast). Now, all of a sudden, the prevailing winds are changing and Quaker Oats has copped to its mistake. Or they’re afraid that their consumers will finally speak up.

There seems little argument that the statues currently toppling to the ground were erected well after the Civil War as a not-so-subtle reminder of the lasting power and dominance of white America. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize the offense they have caused our Black neighbors ever since, but, without a sense of urgency or pressure, we’ve allowed the monuments to remain standing in the name of ‘history’. No one has forced us to think it through.

Tearing down the statues of traitors to the republic is dramatic and symbolic, but it’s not the real work that we need to do. Removing Aunt Jemima from a pancake box does not signify that we, as whites (and corporate America) have done the work to carve a rightful and equal place in the economy, culture, dignity, and success of this nation for Black America. That work is daunting, and requires us to look deep, and change who we are. It demands that we give something to others we’ve been quite comfortable keeping for ourselves. It’s big stuff, and incredibly hard. It requires stamina and fortitude, because it does not happen overnight. It demands honesty, sacrifice and humility. Are we ready - really ready to tackle the big stuff? I hope so, but then again, I still can’t get up the gumption to cut down this looming tree.

Day 91: Companions

Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California

I love complements and contrasts in the garden, so now that the back hydrangea is in full bloom, I wrote a little haiku in honor of these two neighbors:

Without each other, 
The aloe is just prickly,
Blossoms only sweet.

Last night, John admitted that he, too, missed company and socializing. “90 days,” he chuckled, "finally." I thought it was really sweet.

Day 90: Points of View

June 15, 2020: Points of View

Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California

I was surprised and delighted when John fell for this fellow in the garden shop in Sutter Creek and insisted we bring him home. John hates crows. At least the ones around here. The crows we know are certainly noisy, especially when they feel threatened by our infrequent visitor, the neighborhood red-tailed hawk. High overhead, they encircle him, and dive and screech until, without a nod in their direction, the hawk turns effortlessly toward other perches in other neighborhoods and yards. 

A pair of crows raised a family in a nearby tree last year. And, while I appreciated the cooperative parenting evident in the nest and managed (mostly) to ignore the way the birds scolded us for watching, John scolded them right back. Crows are very smart, I know (my sister considers them to be sacred) and evidently reward those humans that are nice to them with random, glittery gifts - pennies, beads, foil, and the like. I doubt that John and I will ever find small trinkets on our deck. But like it or not - noisy pests, sacred friends or something in-between - the crows are part of our garden life, including this, John’s favorite, with an air plant and bucket in his beak.

Reading this weekend’s commentary and news about the ‘occupation’ of a Seattle neighborhood reminded me of the ways in which we perceive events and people through our own lenses and experience. Depending on the reader/watcher’s point of view and the particular reporting news outlet, the closing of the neighborhood to police became a “communist takeover,” a “threat to law and order,” or a “street festival” and “party.” To some, the lack of civil order represented freedom from oppression; to others, a chance to show off what love and peace can do when folks are left to their better natures; and to others still, a danger to society and a threat to the American way of life. Certainly, the photographs I’ve seen seem tame enough - mostly the colorful chalking of streets, free food hand-outs, family games, and lots and lots of bicycles - but I get that others have seen the pictures differently (or have seen different pictures).

Whatever the truth turns out to be - anarchy, utopia, or something in-between - I think, I hope, that the people of Seattle are left alone to figure it out and that nobody sends in the National Guard to impose a point of view.