Gleaning from History

Right now my hope is that every person fighting for, and embodying this wave of change, makes it to the other side whole, and still in possession of joy. This season is demanding a level of mental, emotional, and physical stamina that hasn’t been required in decades. So many fractured foundations are being demolished. Young people are on the front lines of old-school protests, and modern misinformation warfare. We are witnessing and truly living in the midst of a revolution. And it is a humbling honor to play any part in ushering change that will leave some aspect of our world in a better state for future generations. 

However, in spite of this being another period of revolution in our history, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen “unprecedented” used to describe the current condition. I agree with the sentiment to a degree because the global outcry of “Black Lives Matter!” is a brand new phenomenon. But I disagree with labeling this as an entirely unprecedented time because we have faced these challenges before…and simultaneously. Pandemics, civil unrest, protests, and teetering on the edge of economic depression are not brand new circumstances or unknown territories. And when we and/or the media use language suggesting this – vs. acknowledging that history is repeating itself – we risk missing opportunities to learn from our past, craft effective solutions for the future, and take hold of the optimism that comes with knowing we have made it through this before. And not only have we made it through; we have grown stronger through the struggle.

Every arduous journey needs reassurance that some good will come from the hardship. Gleaning wisdom from history can empower us to persist in the face of pain and difficulty. Looking backwards can help us set the pace as we move forward; because sometimes we need to down-shift from sprint to marathon, utilize a relay strategy or… keep our foot on the gas peddle. It also allows us review what we might have missed, or legitimately not have been able address because other issues needed to take priority. And finally, knowing our history is a key to not indefinitely repeating it.

So let’s consider what this country was actually facing 100yrs ago, and hopefully, forge some enlightening connections that are relevant today. At the onset of WWI, in the spring of 1917– a year before the Influenza Pandemic of 1918 – the National Emergency Food Garden Commission was organized in response to food shortages in western Europe and the United States. As farms lost laborers to enlistment, they also faced increased demand to produce for US allied troops who lost farmers and farmland to the battlefield. So the US government produced pamphlets with guidelines for home gardeners to encourage them to join the fight by reducing the consumer burden on American agriculture. This push towards self-sufficiency ebbed over the post WWI years, throughout the Great Depression, and eventually evolved into the Victory Garden Movement during WWII.

What isn’t often discussed is that as early as 1898, George W. Carver produced a host of manuals like these, and distributed them to small black farms to share organic farming methods, help them make the best use of what they grew, and to promote good health through conscious eating.

(Most of his work was lost in 1947 due to a fire in the Carver Library at Tuskegee Univ.) Image Source: HathiTrust via Library of Congress

While we were still in the throws of food shortages, the influenza pandemic, and a world war, there were also the “Red Summer “ Race Riots of 1919. These riots were the mass terrorization of newly returned black servicemen, their families, homes, and businesses by white mobs (often fellow returned servicemen, and off-duty law enforcement). These riots reached from small towns in the south, to northern cities like Syracuse NY, Washington DC, and Chicago IL. The Black Wall Street Massacre in Tulsa, Oklahoma (1921) was one of the last and most well-known of these incidents. This part of our history was quickly shoved under the rug, and excluded from general U.S. history; due to it coinciding with the WWI heroic fantasy of the newly desegregated U.S. Armed Forces making the world “safe for democracy”.

In other words, in the face of the U.S. quest to establish itself as a global beacon of morality, the optics were bad. However, the “Red Summer” was not a finishing blow to the advancement of black citizens in the United States. These attacks just fanned the flames of the early Civil Rights Movement helmed by W.E.B. DuBois, and the Black Nationalist Movement lead by Marcus Garvey. In fact, the leaders of the Mid-Century Civil Rights movement were the children of survivors of the Red Summer. And in spite of all of the turmoil, this was also the inception period for the New Negro Movement; which evolved into the Harlem Renaissance. (additional sources: here, here, and here)

So when we look back roughly 100 years, we were facing a time that looks very much like our world right now – with the added element of a World War.

To quote many a Pastor when they know they’re running long, “Are you still with me? Stay with me now.” … Let’s briefly fast forward to the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950’s and 60’s (a mere 60-50 years ago). This is a more well known time in our history that ran parallel with the post-war / post McCarthyism, non-conformist Beat Generation literary movement, and the counter-cultural Hippie Movement. It also informed the political strategies, and provided a springboard for the Women’s Liberation, and early LGBT Rights movements. And finally, it ushered in a second wave of the back to the land movement that was previously tied to the Anti-Capitalist (and Anti-Socialist) Distributist Movement of the 1920’s -30’s. There was even another influenza epidemic in the early 50’s. However, due to the availability of flu vaccines it was not as devastating in the US as it was in western Europe. Regardless of that missing factor, this period was still a time of urgent Social Justice movements, artistic and literary revolutions, push-back against rampant capitalism, and a need to reconnect with our food production. Whew!

Photo of “Hippy Youth” from the 1967 archives of The Jewish News of Northern California

Are you noticing a pattern? I hope so; because (to reiterate) being able to recognize that there is a precedent for what we’re facing can: A. inform how we navigate this current movement; B. infuse it with the optimism that comes with knowing we’ve been here before, and that lasting (if imperfect) change is continually achieved, and C. the past is full of intersectional revolutions, that also required or inspired people to reclaim control over, and localize our most basic need … our food systems.

Now what is new territory, is that for the first time in the history of these movements, black Americans have the agency, and enough stability to engage, and fight for a seat at the metaphorical farm table. In previous periods, the needs we were marching, and protesting for were such base level requirements of personhood that there was no time to consider a return to the land… our land – still occupied by Jim Crow, and too close to the trauma of sharecropping, and slavery. In previous movements, we were still migrating north in hopes of finding humane employment, and better educational opportunities. Meanwhile the USDA was proverbially looting black farms, crafting discriminatory laws and lending practices, and otherwise disenfranchising black farmers and families who dared to stay in the south. The results have been a detrimental severance from our American legacy, and our food sovereignty. Conversely, the resurgence of young BIPOC farmers, and home growers over the past decade is a tributary movement that reflects a collective healing, homecoming, and a determined hope for our future.

Steadily, and with increasing momentum, we are rediscovering the beauty, and power of our bond (not bondage) to the land. We are establishing a presence and inhabiting space in the naturalist/eco-philosophical forums that discounted the innate wisdom, and scientific acumen of men like Benjamin Banneker, and George Washington Carver. We’re commandeering the lecterns of those that buried the deep knowledge of our indigenous siblings, and demonized the ancestral connection, Shamanism, and Animism that was shared by so many forced immigrants in this country. In short, we finally have the energy to decolonize a cornerstone of livelihood, and wellbeing in any nation… our environmental / agricultural practices and systems.

Black Farmers protest outside the U.S. District Courthouse before a hearing re: their class action lawsuit against the Department of Agriculture in 1999. -Photo by John Francis Ficara via NPR.org

This can be a lot to unpack; but my hope is that looking back fuels a new future for our country. How can the past intersections of social justice, artistic expression, and provision inspire us right now? What cultural vaccine can reduce the likelihood of recurring societal illnesses, and what just needs to be completely dug-out/defunded, and replanted? I understand that history repeating can also be discouraging; but it is the nature of mankind to cycle through a struggle of our best and worst natures, improving a little more each time. What gives me hope is knowing that even violent storms nourish new growth. Likewise, the decomposition, and rotting of old matter creates fertile ground for new growth. And following suit, this wild, stormy, breakdown and decay of what we’ve known for so long, will also carry with it …new growth.

Tomatoes, Food Justice and the Revolution

In the past few days, I’ve wrestled with how, and where I capture my experience of this historical turning point. I’ve wondered if my “gardening journal” is the right place for a reflection on protests, riots, and the deep wounds gouged in our society by racism. I’ve wondered if my quiet nature would do this movement an injustice by not expressing my pain with enough fire. The irony is that when I asked myself how I would even begin to write about this non-gardening subject, what came to mind... was tomatoes. I do not have a clever metaphor. I literally started thinking about tomatoes. 

 The subject of tomatoes is ironic because, while dealing with my father’s illness and passing last year, I didn’t plant and I didn’t post. My shorthand for talking about taking time to grieve, and stepping back from my craft was to say, “With everything going on, it just seems stupid to act like I want to talk about tomatoes.” The same was true in previous years when we faced another shooting, violent rally, or wrongful death. “Forget this. I couldn’t care less about a tomato right now.” I’m sure there was some correlation to the time of year; but the point is that the grief, and weight were too heavy. I did not have the emotional capacity to be present online, just musing about gardening, and pretending that it made me feel better.  Those were times that insulating, and focusing on our family was the only real solution.

So here we are in tomato season again, facing the grave consequences of ignoring police brutality, and systemic racism – during a global pandemic no less –  and in spite of the communal wrestling, and grieving, there has been a shift. This is the first time since the Civil Rights Movement that we have heard such a universal cry for genuine justice. This isn’t just a weekly news cycle that fades away until the next incident. So now I find myself wanting to talk about tomatoes; or rather how our food revolution coincides with our social revolution.  

Now that we are collectively open and raw I want to talk about how we make the most out of these fertile conditions, during this unique growing season. My hope (maybe even my mission) is that as we come together to heal from our present trauma in this country; we can also heal the burning scars left by our past on this country’s land.

This is a critical time for putting change on the table; because if we have the legislative reform, and break down barriers for economic success; but do not restore our relationship with the land, and reclaim our space in the food production system from a position of ownership, we have an incomplete revolution.

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If we check all of the socio-economic, and political boxes; but are still dependent on an agricultural system where we are marginally represented as producers – a system that was designed to sustain capitalism more than it sustains human beings – we have an incomplete revolution.  

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Full disclosure, I don’t consider myself a revolutionary. I’m just one woman with a garden and a small online presence. But over a decade ago this issue, specifically black land ownership / reclamation, a connection to our natural world, and food production was calling me.  While we were still living in Chicago (S. Side), I’d ride past vacant lots and see potential gardens. I imagined corner farmers markets, and peaceful green spaces in our neighborhoods, instead of the cell phone franchises, and payday lending shops that were constantly popping up. At that time, it seemed like I was fairly alone in that dream. Social media was young. Instagram didn’t exist; and we couldn’t quickly connect with other like-minded people via searching a hashtag. So I just kept dreaming, and taking small steps towards making it real.

Then, as my journey progressed I found other people on the same path. Slowly but surely other black, P/WOC gardeners, farmers, food justice warriors, permaculturists, and nature lovers started to show up in my feeds, articles, and suggested connections. It’s overwhelming, and energizing in the most beautiful way to see us in these spaces; because more voices, and more hands makes for a louder message, and a lighter load. Noticing our growing numbers lead me to this question: As our action shifts from the roar of protests, to the rumble of organization and action; can we the Plant People, connect in our communities, regions, and even nationwide, to aid in rendering a complete picture of citizenship, and freedom... because ownership of land, and our food production is freedom.

So can we take hold of this moment to inspire an even bigger wave of building sustainable food systems, strengthening local food security, and direct connections between producers and consumers? Can we recognize that equitable access to financial resources, land acquisition, and education that will empower the next generation of black/POC producers is a critical issue right now? Can all of the single gardeners, grassroots organizations, small-holdings, and legacy farms get together, and put food justice on the table, right beside our basic human rights? … because access to healthy, nutrient-rich food is a basic human right.

I understand that I have asked a lot of questions, and I don’t doubt that these conversations are already taking place in neighborhoods, and communities across the country (I’ve had them myself while volunteering at our local market). I know there are organizations committed to this work; but how can we weave ourselves together, and become a more connected community that is too far-reaching to be ignored? We are watching what the power of united voices can accomplish right now.

So this – what started as me wondering if I could maybe, possibly, diverge from the discussion of flora and fauna – is my pledge to be even more intentional about seeking out ways to engage beyond my yard, and my current volunteering. It’s also a call to other individual gardeners, and growers, to see ourselves as a meaningful, necessary stitch in the quilt. We could be the answer, to connecting organizations, community gardens, local farms, and communities. Our linked hands, and joined voices could be the catalyst we’re looking for right now. We just have to see this as the right time to talk about tomatoes, and be willing to speak up. 

Personal Narrative & The Sustainable Pursuit

Originally written June 11, 2017

Life is continuously being woven, unraveled through storytelling. From cave paintings to memes, humanity has used words and images to capture, examine, and explain what it means to exist with nature, and with each other. On a smaller scale, we often think of the arc of our lives as a story we might fondly –or hauntingly– recall in our golden years. Be it grand or modest, we are creatures that crave a plotline. Story is simply how we humans make sense of this chaotic thing called life.

But what does narrative have to do with “homesteading” on any scale, or environmental stewardship? Honestly, personal narrative can be applied to any long term goal. This is what makes it a useful tool for working towards a more sustainable lifestyle, because building resilience and sufficiency into your habits and home takes time. And pursuing goals over a long period of time, takes stamina and persistence. So when we sit and ruminate on, make lists for, and journal entry this intention… when we day-dream about our passions, and the good work we hope to do, that is a form of story-making.

Whether motivated by bucolic romance, social justice, or developing more personal agency, something inspires us to start a journey towards a worthy cause…or a quest (if you will). There is an origin, an intended path – perhaps we even anticipate challenges along the way – and finally, there is a goal we hope to achieve.  All of those components form a personal narrative with ourselves as the protagonist. Often, and to our detriment, we shrug off our dreams and quests as impractical pursuits, or too great of a risk, instead of seeing them as the building blocks of a story that can become our reality; and we miss out on the powerful thing that happens when we consider our lives through a narrative lens.

When we set out to accomplish something with the perspective of a story in mind, we are more intentional about the decisions, and choices that we make. We consider cause and effect, desired outcomes vs. undesirable consequences. We think with imagery and language that evokes passion. And most importantly, we create a memory of this story that can be recalled when our hope needs help. A story can be a rudder that guides our path, regardless of how choppy the water becomes. And even a dream as simple as living lightly on the earth deserves the support of a vibrant, intentional story.  

This is where our family started; painting in broad strokes, imagining how our future might play out, and what defined “arrival” for this stage in our lives. It was the talk that bubbled up over coffee on a sunday morning, or drifted across the table during a quiet dinner after the babies were asleep. In those loose, non-plans, there were seeds of conviction, glimpses of beauty, and bigger-than-us ideas. I’m sure these types of conversations are familiar to you too. Listen to yourself… your conversations with friends, and loved ones. The dreams and ideas you utter in those moments – whether they’re clear or cloudy – deserve your attention.  That’s your narrative taking shape.  

Cultivating Resilience by Embracing Process

Originally written June 28th 2017

Either the most fulfilling, or the most frustrating thing about pursuing passion, is that it’s a journey without an ultimate end. Even when we finally accomplish what we set out to do, we have to figure out how to keep that thing going. And just to make life more interesting, our original goal might branch out into several unexpected, new ideas along the way. So we set our intentions. We craft a vivid narrative to inspire us, and then life comes along with its change-ups, demanding flexibility.  How wonderful, and how exhausting it is to be on a path hewn by passion.  But romantic language aside, when our main focus is arrival – outcomes, the exhaustion can easily outweigh the wonder. Fulfillment is often overshadowed by frustration.  I doubt anyone would willingly give up opportunities for wonder and fulfillment; but we do whenever we don’t recognize all the ways we arrive, before ever reaching our intended destination. That is the gift of embracing the process.

So much of our culture orients us towards celebrating outcomes.  Process has become a subject that’s meaningful in the context of a beautiful, dramatic, or inspiring success.  It is the, “How did they do it?” question that we eagerly ask those who are where we aspire to be. And there’s value in that. We learn from the processes of those who have done what we hope to do.  However, there is also value in extending that same awe and curiosity to our own lives.  How have you gotten this far? What new habits or perspectives have you developed? What have you read and/or learned? This is your process. Pay attention to it.  Be grateful for all of the elements that have worked well, and all the ones that haven’t. When we learn from our own lives, it keeps us from being consumed by comparison.  

I know this because my family is not in the place, or in the midst of circumstances that reflect our ultimate desire. We also deal with the temptation to measure our success and progress against others gardens, fields and charming low-impact lives.  However, when we consider our journey with gratitude, we realize that (setting and chickens aside) we are already living more of our dream than not.  We’ve been building sufficiency right alongside life’s surprises and challenges.  With that knowledge, a peace settles in that allows us to keep moving forward rather than getting stuck on the perception of lack or failure.  By seeing our dream as a sum of smaller goals, our joy isn’t hinging on one sweeping lifechange.  This perspective nurtures the agility required to make progress in spite of uncertainty.    

For example, in our first attempt at growing food, the greatest success was the bevy of ways I managed to kill plants. But by understanding that gardening was a skill that we would learn over time, the endeavor became about the learning process rather than a boast-worthy harvest.  This shift in perspective is what kept us replanting again and again.  If we gave too much weight to the poor outcomes of our first season, we may have decided that growing food wasn’t really our thing, and quit.  The same is true for sewing, making a sourdough starter, or sketching house plans.  Multiple iterations, trials, and experiments … immersing ourselves in the process is what produced a fruitful second season,  delicious, crusty bread and shirts with restored buttons.  When we lessen the focus on outcomes, and dig into the details of the work we’re passionate about, we make more progress and are happier along the way. 

One of the most effective ways to foster all of this gratitude, shift in perspective, love for the details and process is to document our journeys.  Whether it’s a public feed, a private journal, a collection of artifacts, or a combination of multiple means, creating a record of our beginnings, lessons learned, the beauty and the struggle is like banking encouragement.  The truth is, most of us are forgetful while en route to a dream.  When the present confronts us head-on with disappointment or unintended results, we forget all of the good that preceded it. On the other hand, when we experience those moments that make us feel like champions, we forget all of the failures that came before the win.  Being able to recall our growth and story up to that point – good and/or bad – keeps the heart balanced.  There’s less room for crippling discouragement or the follies of pride, and more space for continued learning and growth.

Now, at some point we do want to actualize our dreams.  The practice of embracing process isn’t about consoling ourselves into complacency or justifying procrastination.  What it does is remove the angst that comes with being dissatisfied until we get everything aligned with our vision.  Embracing the process with gratitude sustains our pace. It channels our passion into persistence and productivity. It swaps our frustration and exhaustion for wonder and fulfillment.  And we have to move in that current; because the work, causes, and projects we’ve chosen will continue to grow.  As long as we care about creating magnificent resistance, that sense of destination will recede into the pursuit of more goodness.

So let’s give ourselves the best odds for a joyful pursuit.             

All Together Now

Originally written July 7th 2017

One of my favorite quotes about self-sufficiency is from plant breeder and author, Carol Deppe.  In her book, The Resilient Gardener: Food Production and Self-Reliance in Uncertain Times, she addresses the conundrum of human nature and the goal of self-sufficiency.  That conundrum being, humanity thrives in community; but pursuing sufficiency can sometimes push people to extremes of striving for independence from community.  As a healthier alternative, Carol proposes interdependence.

“In ordinary and good times, we don’t really seek true independence, but rather enough knowledge and skills so that we can build and hold up our end of honorable interdependence. … [W]e need the kinds of skills that allow us to be valuable  and contributing participants in honorable interdependence in both good and bad times.”   

The beautiful thing about this goal of mutual reliance, is that it requires differentiation.  In the sufficiency movement, we often find comfort and strength in communities of like-minded individuals. However, in our most immediate communities – our partners, roommates, and families, we can’t always bank on equally shared passion.  While that might seem like an obstacle, I think it could be fertile ground for cultivating resilience.

My immediate community is a family of five.  Myself, husband, and our three young sons.  I could paint an image of my entire family sitting around the dinner table, enjoying completely organic meals, having thoughtful discussions about our sustainability efforts.  I could tell you that we so profoundly influence our boys' ideas, that they are growing into little conservationist clones of us.  But that would be a juicy lie, and of no use to anyone.  In reality, our kids – even the toddler – are already so distinctly themselves, and they assert that individuality on a daily basis. They have favorite things, preferred pastimes and particular dislikes. Most of our meals are spent negotiating vegetable consumption and trying not to laugh while reminding them that we don’t tell potty jokes at the table. They are the riotous rhythm of our family.

My partner/husband is also a part of this circus.  And while we’re in this together, we do not have equal investment in every aspect of sufficiency.  He is a city boy through and through, loves technology, and thinks in pixels.  I’ve always had one foot in the woods, loved books, and think in a tangle of stories about the past and future.  Admittedly, the idea of connectedness with nature, urban homesteading or building resilience was mine before it was his.  However, we found our common ground in compassion, a desire to be good stewards, and a conviction to place value in creating good things vs. constant consumption.  Once we agreed on the heart of our mission, we made space to learn together.  As simple as it sounds, communication, listening and openly accepting each other’s differences is what enables us to build.

What has evolved from this open, and patient exchange, is interest-based involvement.  Rather than trying to get all of us on the same page at the same pace, we explore the entire book of opportunities and hone in on our favorite chapters.  I’m passionate about food, natural wellness, and building.  Mr. Pixels is fascinated by beekeeping, finding ways to reduce waste, and the possibility of designing/building our own furniture.  Big Brother doesn’t love dirt; but he’s our captain of water conservation and recycling.  Little Brother is my garden helper.  He loves checking on the plants, watering and almost anything involving cooking.  As for Baby Brother, we’re just happy that he eats more vegetables than he tears out of the ground.  At this stage of life, this is our honorable interdependence – flexible and unifying. 

Could your work or journey benefit from more inclusion and latitude; more minds and helping hands?  For those of us who are used to getting things done on our own, who’ve gotten where we are because of our determined independence, it can be difficult to trust others with our vision.  A vision is its own kind of baby.  While they’re still in infancy, we guard them closely.  Though at some point, if we want to see them growing out in the world, we will have to rely on the help and wisdom of others.  At some point, we all need the village.  

Staking out the area for the big little garden.

In the work of building resilience and sufficiency, this principle of necessary connection and valued differentiation eliminates the sense that we and our households need to be completely self-sustaining.  Everyone isn’t going to be able to keep livestock or grow all of their groceries (and everyone shouldn’t).  No single person or micro-community will possess all of the knowledge and experience needed to be entirely self-sufficient.  So the only true means to achieve resilience in our homes and communities is to do it together – with a mutual respect for our strengths, patience with our weaknesses and supportive reminders that we’re all working towards a shared goal.  

With the elements of open communication, interest-based involvement, flexibility, and staying centered on the heart of the mission, we can all lay the groundwork for a stronger, resilient network of interdependent individuals, families, organizations etc..  We can engage younger generations in ways that foster their unique skills and inspire their own conviction. We can reach out to older generations with their wealth of knowledge and experience.  We can collaborate with our peers in ways that create room for differing life paths, and scheduling conflicts. A simple tweak in the language – inter- vs. in- – suddenly alleviates the pressure and the weight of complete self-reliance.  There’s nothing to prove by doing it alone and everything to gain by including others.  The best way forward is all together.