Body:

Winter Quarter

Week one

I don't feel the need to re-write how Keeping It Living & Natural History of Puget Sound Country defined the zones word for word; instead, I will address the similarities and differences in each approach. Both texts discussed primarily the same zones and defined each by the dominant tree growing in that zone. Both also discussed ways in which plants lived in communities with one another and how the dominance of one tree meant the abundance of a shrub; for example, Western Hemlock/Cascade Oregon Grape and Douglas Fir/Salal. However, Keeping It Living introduced the idea of humans as being so deeply integrated with their environment that they are an inseparable part of defining an ecosystem or zone. Certain plants only grew in the abundance that settlers found them because the NW First Peoples ensured they had the open space. Keeping It Living states that a lot of berry plants do not grow well under a dense canopy but rather on edges or clearings; of course the Camas prairies go with this fact of indigenous people maintaining specific ecosystems and the First Peoples having a dramatic effect on the way the land looked when Europeans laid eyes on it. Keeping It Living also addresses the cultural divisions of the NW and it is interesting to think about how the zones introduced without much cultural relevance in Natural History are applicable and intertwined with the tribal boundary zones Keeping It Living addresses. Also, I am very interested in learning more about the agroecosystem concept this first reading introduced. I am starting to view the natural world as being inextricably tied with culture and human interaction and not as this separate wild being. Also seemingly unrelated but is in fact related is I am taking a class called “Shoji: Wood, Paper, Light” which is centered around the ways traditional Japanese architecture blurs the lines between inside and outside – traditional Japanese homes bring in the outside world and integrate nature with their living space. They are not separate.

I realized when reading Natural History of Puget Sound Country that Natalie and I last quarter never tried identifying any of the mosses. The Bigleaf Maple has a large variety of mosses growing on it and I never thought to look at the moss growing on our site's Bigleaf Maple. So, looking at the moss is something I'd love to do (as a side thing for myself, I suppose). I found myself thinking about Western Hemlock, also, while reading -- should our site have a Western Hemlock? I feel like Forest C has great potential for being an incredibly engaging space for visitors so my main goal is to realize that potential. What Marja has outlined for this quarter's goals for site work is exactly in that direction, too.

I was so moved by the readings from this past week out of The Sweet Breathing of Plants. I loved the way Claudia Lewis described a garden as a way that people commit themselves to a place and how her sourdough starter connected her to her past. For her, the sourdough starter was a precious heirloom garden; she even describes it as an "herbal remedy." Her sourdough starter is healing for her. Also the way in which she brought beauty to mold and this concept of life through decay which is an essential part of the natural world (e.g. nurse logs, fallen leaves) was really beautiful. I love every sentence of this book so far.

Week two

I can be an agent of healing by bringing plants into other people's lives the way they have been brought into mine. When I think of identifying with a role of being a "healer", I think of it in terms of my relationships with other people, not just myself. How I would identify with my surroundings within this role as an agent of healing would be that my surroundings are connected to myself and that I am connected to my surroundings. Meaning I can heal my surroundings just as much as my surroundings can heal me and others. Thus, I can be an agent of healing to my surroundings in addition to being an agent of healing to people. Within this identity would be a patient and open mindset where I would approach the world with an aware curiosity. Being open to your surroundings and seeing them as one with yourself is the first step to becoming an agent of healing. It is interesting how at first I thought the concept of a "healing garden" was purely the idea of having a relationship with plants for human healing, but I am beginning to have glimpses of thoughts leading me to the idea of "healing gardens" being in existence for healing your surroundings, as well. The positive intention a person would put into their garden would send out a healing/positive energy into the garden's surroundings, and so on and so on, echoing positive and healing energy throughout all living things. An agent of healing would inspire an interconnectedness within others, also.

I am drawn even more to identifying the originally overlooked things now in my site after having re-read the forest chapter in Natural History of Puget Sound Country. The author talks about lichens and fungi and there was this beautiful mushroom growing right beside the path in my site over the weekend. I wonder how many more kinds of fungi I could find if I looked? And could I identify them? An exciting challenge, perhaps! Also, I would really like to have my site be viewed in a way that changes a visitor's perception of what a garden can be. Maybe they would think, "Is this forest a garden? If this is a garden, then a garden can be a forest!" This simple realization would educate visitors on how different forms of agriculture can and have existed. Maybe even suggesting through signage to visitors for them to try eating something that is edible that they would normally not think about being edible would be a cool thing.

Week three

The basket I am weaving is made of plant friends, identity, purpose, vision, and spirit, and it is infinite. Recent thoughts have been... where do my responsibilities lie: to my ancestors or to the land? How do I honor both, and are they the same thing? Everything I think about, read, learn, and do connects to reveal bits and pieces of my life's purpose, a sacred connection. I dream more frequently of my home. I have realized that where my roots are is where I draw my energy from. My roots are connected to sacred places and my home is my most sacred place. How do I explain it? It is more than just the farm, the fields, the history. It is the lines of the mountain ridges against the sky that slowly merge with the rolling hills of the valley, the rivers and creeks flowing into the Potomac, the cherry trees and walnut trees and honeysuckle bushes. When night falls, these things become one, they flow into the sky and I breathe them in when I dream. I am made of all of them and I do not know how to explain who I am and what my identity is without first explaining these things.

Lemon balm smells like sunshine and it settles my restless heart. I have chosen it for my plant study since I already have a liking of it but do not know much else about it besides how it makes my fingers smell (and, more recently realized, how it affects my nervous system). I am already thinking of a nice tea: lemon balm, mint, and chamomile. I am thinking about Mugwort and how inseparable it is from myself now. I would love to have that kind of intimacy with a lot of other plants and I look forward to developing those relationships; drawing them in my journal is my favorite way of getting acquainted, I've realized. Also, Black Cohosh - this plant name has been in my head for about a week now; why? I know nothing about it and have no idea where I heard or read this name but it has been calling to me, it seems. The name repeats in my head over and over; what does it mean?

Roots are so cool! I never realized before how beautiful roots are. And I am loving drawing all these twigs! They have such subtle details and interesting complexities. Plants are so much more than their leaves that I already love. Unlike Naomi Shihab Nye (from The Sweet Breathing of Plants), my lasting solace is within the color green. My question is, can I find lasting solace within the color brown? The brown of twigs (though they are not always brown, as I am discovering), of roots is also the brown of soil. Brown creates green. If I love these twigs and roots I will be loving the whole plant; anything else is incomplete.

One more thing -- Adam and I were talking last night about the concept of how being labeled as a "tree-hugger" or "nature lover" or whatever else you can think of is ridiculous. Have you ever known someone who told you they didn't like being "in nature"? Nature is the world. There is no line to cross, only a wall to tear down.

Week four

Winter is manifesting itself in me in a different way this year than usual. Of course, there is still the common manifestations that have made me dislike winter so much in the past -- I'm cold all the time, I have much less energy, I want to sleep more, etc. The new way I am seeing winter this year is how this time is preparing me for moving forward soon. Where do I need to heal, where do I need to rest, where do I need to take action? I am just starting to come to terms with parts of myself that need healing and seeing how to take effective action in order to do so.

My journal work is harder now -- it is a dear companion still, but we meet less often. Inspiration to journal does not come as easily. One way I am dealing with this is by taking pictures of things that catch my eye and drawing them later at home. I don't think this is nearly as effective in terms of "connecting" as drawing something in person has been for me (I feel almost like I am seeing the plants on a superficial level instead of opening myself up to their voice as I sit with them and thus get a deeper meaning from the drawing) but for now it will have to do.

I think medicine is anything that heals you, enriches your life, teaches you, connects you to the oneness of the world, comforts you, or makes you smile. I think there can be good medicine and bad medicine. Bad medicine would be something that is harmful to yourself or others. While I am not as concrete on what I feel a garden is, I think a garden is any place you go to physically, spiritually, or mentally to learn, to heal, to be nourished, and to be happy. Lovingly cared for gardens are powerful places; they speak volumes for the beautiful connection between person and place. A garden can be very, very good medicine in itself, and a garden can be the place you go to in order to receive medicine.

Week five

Keeping It Living
Chapter 3, “Intensification of Food Production on the Northwest Coast and Elsewhere”
by Kenneth M. Ames

Summary

Kenneth M. Ames discusses intensification in this chapter of Keeping It Living, or increase of food production, harvest, and storage in Northwest Coast populations. Following the introduction, the author outlines his approach to intensification – looking at plant resources, what are normally considered “secondary resources”, instead of salmon, and argues that salmon intensification has not been key for change in the Northwest coast area. In considering intensification, he states one has to recognize the importance of and all aspects of food storage: acquisition of food to be stored, methods and tools used to process it, and the methods and tools used to store it. Food storage was central to the Northwest coast economy for at least 3500 years and as such is a crucial factor to consider. Boxes were used in cooking and storing, meaning woodworking skills were essential.

The author discusses the definition of intensification often, broadly defining intensification as “the process by which one or more elements of production (e.g., labor, land, technology, skill, knowledge, organization) are increased relative to other elements in order to maintain or increase food production” (p. 70). He stresses that intensification can occur by increasing labor and efficiency (efficiency does not have to decrease). Ames argues that the continuum between hunter-gatherer and farmer is unidirectional and “reflects deep-seated notions of progress, in which farming succeeds hunting and gathering” as a natural result of complexity arising inevitably from simplicity. Ames proposes to do away with the whole notion of a continuum and instead wishes to think in terms of a bush with many branches, or “busy variation” (p. 72).

In addressing the relation of social complexity to intensification of food production, Ames agrees with several other authors whose work he discusses in that while “relatively high levels of food production [enable] conditions for [social complexity], they do not lead ineluctably to it” (p. 73). He argues that important indicators of intensification to look for in archeological evidence are technological, economic, and social, and that often these look very different from place to place and can be difficult to see in the archeological record. Ames then uses three different models in an attempt to figure out what intensifying food production would have looked like, focusing on geophytes (roots, bulbs, etc). He follows the logic of the three models to conclude that intensification occurred either because of “an overall decrease in foraging efficiency or increases in risk and/or the costs of failure associated with food getting” (p. 96).

Salmon has always been the focus of food intensification prior to this volume. This is mostly because a model of intensification is the food intensified becomes a main part of the diet, and salmon has always been abundant in archeological records, although fluctuating at times. Ames argues if salmon and other animal resources in Northwest coast diets have been in existence for the past 10,000 years, salmon would continue to dominate and plant intensification might not be very evident in archeological records. Ames concludes on this point, saying economies can be understood on regional levels and local levels. Plant intensification would vary on local levels and thus is difficult to ascertain.

Response

Ames is big on questions in this chapter and short on answers. He does well with addressing the issues faced when discussing intensification, but more gives guidance for future research than anything else. This is important, no doubt, and his work on defining intensification builds a solid foundation; though, perhaps further chapters answer his questions? It is difficult to respond in too much depth to this chapter without knowing the discussions in further chapters. I agree with some of his viewpoints, such as plant intensification was key and not animal resources like salmon. Ames makes a good distinction between looking for just more food remains or more diversity of food remains and evidence of increased effort or increased efficiency. I am still left wondering after reading this chapter, what exactly does this kind of intensification look like? I have general ideas myself, and Ames did allude to possible scenarios, though mostly through the geophyte model. I very much enjoyed the tables presented for the Thoms Model. This made the material easy to comprehend.

Now, this is where I define the word exploitation. From dictionary.com: “the act of making some area of land or water more profitable or productive or useful;” from wiktionary.org: “to use for one’s own advantage.” I believe the frequency of this word throughout the chapter illustrates very well the Western thinking that underlies this discussion of intensification. At first I thought perhaps Ames was just using this word to mean “the use of” – but no! He lays it out very clearly – resource depletion as an inevitable part of food production/intensification. Granted, this is within the Winterhalder-Goland model, where it is stated that supposedly there is evidence of resource depletion of sturgeon, salmon, elk, deer, and sea lions as far back as 2500 B.P. Ames admits there has been little research done on this. What bothered me continually about this chapter was not the use of a word or the consideration of human consumption effects, however. What bothered me was the complete absence of any mention of sustainability. The word sustainability did not appear once throughout the chapter. I do not think you can talk about food intensification, population growth, and human interaction with the environment on a growing scale in general without taking into account the context and beliefs under which it is done. I truly believe that under Traditional Ecological Knowledge and Wisdom, there is sustainable living – yes, modification through interaction, no passive living, to be sure – but USE does not automatically equal EXPLOITATION. Sustainability has been a concept in indigenous cultures stretching back a long, long time; it is a concept that is, in different forms, passed down through generations – mostly through the idea of respect and responsibility. There is no consideration for the mutual relationship of the land with the people in this chapter. What do the plants gain? Where is the mention of respect, of spirit, of purpose? I can only assume further chapters address these issues even though they are lost on Ames, since the book is indeed titled Keeping It Living. I have a feeling I would enjoy reading Chapter 4 and that it would answer many questions Ames leaves unanswered.

Connections

Since this chapter is mostly definitions, models, and theories, I have a hard time connecting it to my site at the Longhouse Garden. The one strong connection I can make to my site is that of Ames’s point with local intensification looking different from regional intensification. I can view my site as a locality within a region and think about what plants (or “resources”) are distinct to my site. How would they be intensified? More of the plants is the first thing I think of. Clustering the Salmonberry on the edge of the forest clearing. Keeping the forest clearing a forest clearing! Moving the Nootka rose so it can produce roses and hips in its new location. Interacting with the forest often so the plants stay productive.

I can also think about how the models Ames discusses would be applicable to my site. There is only one Western redcedar in the site, so that would be a low-ranked “resource.” How could the abundant plants be used in such a way that frequent use would not deplete them? Even further, how have First Peoples used these abundant plants without depleting them? This is something I could learn by reading further in the book. However, seeing the possibilities for intensification and realizing the breadth at which intensification must be approached from (what tools would we need, how would we store the food, how would we cook the food?) is an important contribution Chapter 3 makes.

Week six

I saw a picture of a columbine a few days ago. I was stunned. I was walking into a grocery store and out front they had a TON of seeds, flowers, bulbs, etc. I was browsing the flower seed packets and there it was! When I read that chapter from The Sweet Breathing of Plants, I had no idea what a columbine looked like. Once I saw it, I remembered that line, "Trim soldier, at ease in its yearly spin, Columbine." I recalled how Elaine Scarry described her steep garden and how she felt like she were the first person on earth to see a flower bloom when her columbine came up. It struck me how powerful a story can be once you find a connection to it in your own life, and how her story became one with me, as I stood outside in the chilly night air and gazed upon columbine seeds. Just as she wanted to run through town telling everyone about it, I wished I could pull everyone in the grocery store outside to marvel at how incredibly beautiful a flower can be.

In the reflection for week four, I spoke of ways in which winter is manifesting in me. I mentioned that winter has been showing me how to heal. In this week's reflection, I am going to elaborate on that (which in itself will be good medicine). Since I was about 15, I have been dealing with depression and social anxiety. For most of that time it has been manageable, but has steadily gotten worse. Starting at the age of 19 I now see how it started to affect my life and relationships in an incredibly negative way. I assumed those things to be character flaws at the time, and started using awareness as a tool for keeping myself in check. (As an example, for about a year, I kept a journal where every day that I felt "off" I would find one moment of the day where things felt beautiful or calm or something that made me smile.) It always got much worse in the winter months and I assumed for a while I just had Seasonal Affective Disorder (which I realize is no longer the case), so summer became my best friend and I learned to equate sunshine with being happy; in Maryland, I found a way to handle the winter -- the skies were BEAUTIFUL every single day. Just stunning, absolutely incredible no matter what the day. The horizon would start to take on tinges of pink in the early afternoon. Flash forward to winter in the Pacific Northwest, and I'm mentally and spiritually drained. My life and my heart started to become voids, and I decided I had enough. It was time for action. I saw the buds opening and new leaves growing and I heard it loud and clear: time for action, time for spring. Thus, the past few weeks I have been seeing all the ways in which my life has been affected by my depression and other related issues, and that it is no longer something I can ignore or brush off. I can no longer be stubborn about it just because I don't want to be like my mom in that regard. I have been hesitant to take medication because she has for as long as I can remember, but also because it feels like I should be able to control myself on my own. However, a funny realization occurred to me when thinking about what I define medicine as: to quote myself, "medicine is anything that heals you, enriches your life, teaches you, connects you to the oneness of the world, comforts you, or makes you smile." Plants have for so long been much of my medicine through my external interactions with them. Sitting under a tree, putting a cherry blossom in my hair, smelling a rose, etc. Why would it be a bad thing, then, to seek medicine in the form of tinctures and capsules? After I decided to no longer be embarrassed, feel guilty, or lie about how I feel and that which I cannot change on my own, I decided to start taking St. John's Wort. The past three days since the plant has started to take effect have been some of the best days I have experienced in months, and I feel like I am well on my way to healing. That is the long version of how winter has helped me this year, and how my spring has started. I wanted to share it in part due to getting it out but mostly because I hope if anyone else is struggling with the same kinds of things, they will see the need for action just as winter gives way to spring.

Week seven

I thought the final section of Keeping It Living wrapped up what I had previously read nicely.  Most of what was written in that final section had already been addressed, so it was not too much new information.  I was still interested in the material, but only learned a few new things after having read The Earth’s Blanket and other chapters of Keeping It Living.  I enjoy the way Nancy Turner and Douglas Deur write together; I do not find it too dry and they do a good job of presenting information.  I am not sure how else to respond to this section of the book, but I did enjoy reading what I read of it, and when I have time I would like to read more of the chapters at some point.  It is an incredibly important book and I am thankful for all those authors who have devoted their time to it.

For my personal presentation, I am going to play a song I have written.  I wrote it several weeks ago when I first started thinking about my personal presentation; it came to me easily and I kept it simple.  The song mentions my garden and how it has been important to me to include plants in my personal garden that hold meaning for my parents, especially my mom.  Also this quarter, when thinking about my roots, it was nothing new to see where my strongest roots are, but it made me think twice about why I do not feel like I have roots here in Olympia.  It seems like in so many ways I am afraid to get too strongly attached to this place since I know I will be leaving sometime next year.  So, my personal garden being in a box is coincidentally a sort of metaphor for how I am afraid to let my roots get too deep.

I will also show some pictures of my home in Maryland for my presentation.  I am going to compile pictures that I feel represent my most sacred place.  I don’t think many people in our class have seen that part of Maryland before so hopefully they will be interested to see the pictures.  I will be nervous for my personal presentation since it will be revealing so much of my truest self!
 

Week eight

The Sweet Breathing of Plants has been a shining, warm light pulling me through winter.  Whether I was charmed, moved, or enraged, every chapter in this book touched me in some way.  I was enraged by Rachel Carson’s “Earth’s Green Mantle” and her devastating descriptions of destruction; I felt for the sage, as sage is magical and beautiful in every way possible and has a spirit so strong that it weaves its way into my dreams whenever I am near it.  Brenda Peterson’s “Killing Our Elders” moved me to tears.  I was mind-blown by Jeanne Achterberg’s “Fate of the Wise Women”; how different would I be, would all women be, would the entire world be, if that knowledge had not been lost?   

I was in for a surprise when I did a Google image search of Mt. Index.  Oh, glorious mountain!  The poem by Carolyn Kizer captured my interest so intensely that I just had to see what this mountain looked like.  And in doing so, I fell in love with the Cascades all over again!  Another experience from my life is when I brought home the alders that had been removed from the sayuyay garden, I read the poem “Alder” by Teresa tsimmu Martino.  I then read out loud the poem to the alder saplings in my living room.  It seemed fitting, somehow.   (See my week six reflection for another personal experience related to a chapter from this book.)

So many of the stories of these women have echoed in my mind for weeks after reading them.  I still cannot shake the rich images so lovingly written in these chapters.  Every flower, every plant, every tree – I see myself in the women of The Sweet Breathing of Plants, and it makes me search my own heart for stories that I can share as they have.
 

Week nine

Spring is here and I am ready for it.  With every new leaf, flower, and opening bud I see, my heart is warmed and I remember what it is like to feel complete.  Spring changes EVERYTHING.  It changes your life each time, if you let it.  I am ready to let it.  I am ready for a new home (moving soon) and a new program.

I am ready to move forward with everything I have learned in Healing Gardens over the past two quarters and apply it to new areas.  I am going into my new program, The Practice of Sustainable Agriculture, with so much under my belt and I feel more prepared than I ever thought I could be.  I know that all of the knowledge of plants and place I have acquired will come in handy.  I will still be active in my garden work with the Longhouse and sayuyay & sister garden, of course, but the focus will be something a little different.  It is strange how everything has built on top of one another to put me where I am at this moment; it is also strange to realize I have been destined to be a part of something like these gardens, and thus have always been a part of them without even knowing it.  It is powerful to be taught by the spirit of someone whom I will never know in the physical realm of this life, and to have heard the calling of that spirit before the name subiyay ever graced my ears.

The experiences of the past two quarters have given me a path that I know I must follow.  It took me a long time to get where I am now mentally and spiritually with my heritage, and it was only right before I left home that I started to realize what the relationship I have with that place means to me.  It is hard to convey in words how utterly strange it is that the thing I tried to get away from my entire life is now the thing that occupies my entire heart and all of my daydreams – being what others would label as a  “farmer.”  From being in this program and exploring my identity and my roots and opening up new ways of thinking, being, and knowing, I am more certain now than ever before that I want to live the rest of my life on that land, and it is does not have to be the way it has been.  I want to grow herbs and help people bring plant medicine into their lives.  I want to teach people how to reconnect and how to see the oneness of the world.  I want to be a healing force in the broken and poisoned community that is swallowing the valley of my home and beyond.  I want to be just like my mother and raise my children where I was raised and I want to tell them the stories of the land.  I want to wake up every morning, put my cheek to the soil, and sing it a song.  And so it all shall be.  This program has validated my main goal for my life, and that is to be self-sustaining.  I now see that the goal to be self-sustaining is not selfish since it will inspire and educate anyone I encounter.  By following the pull of my heart as it is drawn to the Earth, I can show others the way.
 

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Fall Quarter

Week one

This first week brought a lot of challenges and changes. I have already learned to identify several plants in my habitat: Colt's foot, Nootka rose, and Touch-me-not. I have already begun to feel comfortable and open with everyone I have spoken to in the program (which is hard for me to do most of the time) and I think it is because we are all relating through a common passion and striving for understanding of the same things.

I find myself getting an incredible amount out of every encounter and taking in everything brought to the table in discussions. For example, when discussing cultural perspectives on gardening, Kimberly pointed out that Native Americans view animals as gardening when they eat berries, prune bushes, and defecate. Before going further, I will briefly address the background I come from. My heritage is a valley in the middle of a 10-mile stretch of ancient Appalachian mountain range: Middletown Valley. My family has been farming on the same patch of land since the early 1700's, and I feel this pull daily. It speaks to me in ways other landscapes do, only much stronger. Thus, I have always had a relationship with nature, and even though farming can be an exploitative and dominating relationship, my family's land has never been like the Roundup farms down the road. My ancestors have listened and done as best as they could to provide for themselves and their community sustainably instead of forcefully. So, when Kimberly pointed out that animals garden, too, I realized that even though my own heritage is one of a strong, nurturing relationship with the land, what I dislike about the cultural perspectives surrounding me in this country has pushed me away from a true understanding. This is probably more aptly explained by when Marja said that it is a Western view to leave nature alone and to not interact with it or alter it. This is actually something I have come to think, but not because I view myself as separate from nature, as most do in American culture. Rather, it is because I am surrounded by so much exploitation and domination that I am afraid to interact with nature in an altering way for fear of replicating that which I despise. I see so much negativity in the relationship between most people and their environments. When most people in this country do interact with nature and don't destroy it, they don't listen to it; they can only appreciate it if it is unnatural and stereotypically beautiful (like a chemical-ridden lawn or a spotless flower bed). I was saddened when I saw how the negative interactions have weakened my connection to nature instead of strengthening it. It is a very important step for me to accept that I, personally, can interact with nature and alter it in a positive way, and that avoiding this positive interaction for fear of hurting something is actually out of balance.

Lastly, when Marja spoke of the true nature of Fall, I realized I have never really listened to this season. I have always dreaded the dismal Mid-Atlantic winters back home, and when Fall came I knew the cold, dead grey would not be far behind. Thus, somewhere along the line, Fall became when I started to shut my eyes and ears, so to speak. But when Marja said that Fall is a time for letting go of what is not needed, I understood. I saw the green of the moss and ferns mixed in with the brown of the crispy fallen leaves and I understood. I have always had a hard time letting go of what I know I should, so it is only natural that I should have a hard time listening to something that lets go so easily. This season has a lot to teach me, and I think really listening to it for the first time will bring a deeper understanding of not just nature but myself, as well.

Week two

I mark Oct. 6 as the first true rainy day. The rainy days are more frequent now and I welcome these strange misty days warmly, knowing soon we will be well accquainted. The rain makes me feel comfortable and I'm relieved that I don't actually need to use an umbrella or heavy-duty raincoat, just rainboots :) Do the plants enjoy the rain and look forward to it as much as I do? I think they do. I noticed this week how the fallen leaves in my site collect puddles of rain water. The little birdies drink from them. The earthworms wiggle around freely amongst the wet leaves. The soggy leaves start to be decomposed and turn into nutrients for the soil so the plants can grow in the spring. I saw a beautiful Steller's Jay with a huge nut in his beak today at my site. These observations are easily tied into what kinds of gardens there are. There can be nut gardens for the birds, wet leaf pile gardens for the earthworms and salamanders, rain gardens, rock gardens for remembering the beautiful simplicity of all things, sand dollar gardens drying in the sun, tidal pools are gardens, the strawberries growing on my patio left behind by a previous tenant is a garden, butterfly gardens, on and on and on. What is a garden? Only a week ago I did not think of a garden as having as broad of a definition as I now realize it to be. With only a little observation I have realized that a garden is anywhere, anything, alive and purposeful and beautiful and ugly and polluted and... I still do not know the boundaries for this answer, but I feel in my heart that even my relationships with others are gardens.

Plant identification at my site with Natalie has been frustrating. There are such slight differences in leaf shape/structure that is hard to match up to a picture without knowing what the fruits or flowers of the plant look like. A lot of the plants are difficult to identify if you are seeing the plant only at one point in its cycle. I am sure it will get easier as I learn more, and just takes patience. Also, I weeded a little and when pulling up a small thing in the middle of the path, it didn't come up easily; rather, a huge root under the path came up, tearing up the soil, and I had to twist at the root for several minutes due to lacking a cutting device. I felt slightly guilty for hurting something that was so strong but my hands got stained black and my palms were sore and I realized I had started to form a relationship with my site that can only come through hands-on interaction. I look forward to furthering this relationship.

While reading The Village Herbalist, a lot of thoughts came into my mind. I really only wish to address two of them here. First, it is continually frustrating for me when I realize how many who wish to lead "alternative" lifestyles must spend so much time un-learning what we have "learned" from this ridiculous culture. I see in myself an ignorance that I know is only worse in others when it comes to "little medicine". I have spent my entire life fighting off fevers when I should have let them run their course. I have not had faith in my body's ability to heal itself. I honestly thought that every time I went to the doctor and took allopathic medicine that there wasn't an effective alternative. I have for a while now recognized this as bad seeing as how I started to have an intense curiosity in natural medicine, but still.. I have lifted the veil over my eyes with several very important things so far in my life that I have been "taught" were good or acceptable, but why not this? Why not sooner? Why never realize until recently that my body doesn't want chemicals synthesized in a lab from a sterile bottle but harmonious, energy-filled remedies from the Earth? I loved when the author said in the intro to the first chapter of the book that she has a vision for herself that she is sometimes impatient to reach but knows that an oak does not become huge in a short period of time. Becoming the aware and loving person I want to be takes much time, and as I said, an un-learning is involved for many of us that I wish none of us had to go through. Second, it dawned on me that the main reason most of us go to the doctor (or me, anyway, and I only assume this is the case with most others) is to have someone to listen to us, to tell us it's alright, to touch us gently, to give us undivided care. I have always sought out a feeling of being taken care of -- from when I would get out of the bath when I was little and I would say, "Take care of me, Mommy, take care of me" and she would wrap me in a towel and lift me up in her arms, to now. When I would go to the doctor and he would listen to me when I said my throat hurt, he would treat me with respect and care, listening to my breathing and my heartbeat, like my body was something to be read and was telling him a very interesting story. Our bodies are stories, things to be loved and cared and respected, and I know this is what communities need -- someone to listen to our bodies, someone to tell us it's alright, someone to touch us gently and hand us a warm up of tea. (Aka.. an herbalist!) I would like to attain this gentle and warm being with myself and not have to seek it from others always. While a gentle and loving touch from others is always needed, being taken care of can be easily felt by growing and preparing my own herbal remedies.

Week three

There is a truth passed down among peoples, and when it reaches me, it reverberates deeply. The truth that all is one and the concept of living respectfully -- I think this is what traditional wisdom is at the core. Nancy Turner says in her article "Traditional Ecological Knowledge and Wisdom of Aboriginal Peoples in British Columbia" that TEKW is "communication and exchange of knowledge" and "practices and strategies for sustainable living," centered around a connected sprituality/philosophy and worldview. Gardening from the viewpoint of TEKW would be valuing and utilizing the relationships of plants with eachother and with people (no monocultures), and using the plants sustainably and with purpose. I see a traditional garden as being more of a whole system, as opposed to a separate space with exotic plants and something that can't exist outside that context. I am saddened so deeply when I think of how much traditional knowledge is being lost and how the younger generations don't want to listen. Every single culture, every single person on this planet would benefit immensely if they were open to these ways of thinking and living.

When we watched "Teachings of the Tree People" on Saturday, I was so moved. Whenever I hear indigenous people speak of their knowledge, I am filled with life and love and peace and I am calmed. My favorite quote from that film is "The forest was our Walmart." Bruce's voice is beautiful, I wish I could have met him in this life. I suppose I have met his presence, though, he is very much present at the Gifts Garden. I think that is why I enjoy being there so much; when I sit in that space it is like I am sitting with him and listening to his stories. I have such an urge to take care of that space, or a desire to nuture, or help it. I can't wait to start working there.

Week four

Gardens have so, so many purposes! The first one that comes to mind is simply productiveness -- to garden for a result. This can be harvesting crops for feeding yourself or a community, a way to make a living, flowers for reminding onlookers how beautiful life is, herbs for medicine, planting specific plants so specific animals/insects/birds/etc come, a space for relaxation/meditation.. and on and on. Not only is gardening for the result, though, as I think the purpose can also be just the act itself. I am confident that many people garden not so much to benefit from what the garden will produce or the effect it will have but rather just to interact with plants and the land and to be outside. (Or inside, in the case of window beds and other related things!)

October has been wonderful so far, bringing with each new day a feeling of being more strongly rooted in this place. I have been listening, as I set out to do a month ago, and have been learning. There are some things coming up in my life shortly that I know I will be trying to apply this learning to, and I am grateful for the ways in which the plants have been showing me their ways of letting go of what is not needed for the upcoming winter.

This past week, Adam and I went to the Quinault Rainforest around Lake Quinault. We saw three giant trees with "claims to fame" of sorts -- a yellow cedar, a sitka spruce, and a western redcedar. When I was sitting with the yellow cedar, I couldn't help but think back to the story of the yellow cedars in The Earth's Blanket. Up there on that hillside, it was so easy to believe that the ancient yellow cedar before me used to be one of the young women drying salmon by the river. And to make this even more believeable, the only other trees within view of her size were two other yellow cedars! I immediately knew the tree as Grandmother, and thought about her long life she has lived thus far. The following is an excerpt from my journal: '"How many years?" I ask. "There are no years, there is only here." "What things have you seen, Grandmother cedar?" "I have seen you. I have seen the sky. Fellow spirits, strange spirits, but all these are now, all here, all you."' This lesson really struck me, and I expect to feel humbled by this encounter for a long, long time.

Week five

What is a garden? This question was one I had attempted to address at the beginning of the quarter. I have not come to an answer since then, however. On the contrary, my feelings on what a garden is have only become more and more vague; there are less lines and fewer boundaries to this answer now more than ever. I do think though that a garden is a garden even if it is a bad garden -- I don't think it has to be healthy and positive to be a garden. Any atmosphere in which something grows can be a garden. Even sickly and polluted city waters are gardens, even if it is simply a trash/algae garden. I think people are more likely to attribute "garden" to something healthy and good; though, nothing can really grow if it is not healthy, right? So perhaps the gardens that are sick are merely just dying gardens, they are lesser versions of their potential. I wonder if this makes a city a garden. I didn't think so several weeks ago, but a city could be seen as a sick and lesser version of what it could be ("what it could be" meaning a community living in harmony with nature). I think hunting and gathering is gardening as long as it is done respectfully. The more I think about this, the wider the answers stretch. I cannot find any boundaries to what a garden could be, as the answer could be justified any way one would want, it seems.

On another note, I really loved going to Islandwood. I wasn't sure what to expect before getting there, but it was really a great experience. I'm so glad a place like that exists where kids can go and interact with the world in such a positive and enriching way. My favorite thing was the plants that feed off the waste water. What a beautiful concept, that life is supported by what people normally deem "dirty", and that in turn people can benefit from this life feeding off of you. This is the way it should be! People are so, so disconnected from so many things, and so many of us lack these kinds of relationships and interactions.

Also, this past Monday my Gifts Garden group went up to the garden to work. It was early in the morning and when we got there, EVERYTHING was covered with frost -- the first frost! It was beautiful, the sunlight hit sparsely through the trees and made everything sparkle in patches. That space always has such a powerful energy to it, like it is speaking continuously and waiting for me to understand well enough to listen. Everytime we go I feel it more and it was just perfect to experience the first frost there, and in that way, with those plants.

Looking forward so much to November here. The medicine making workshop last Wednesday was wonderful fun, it gave me such an accomplished feeling to be able to create something useful from something that otherwise wouldn't have been. The yellowdock root I used for my medicinal vinegar I had struggled with removing from the gravel path at the Gifts Garden. It was unwanted in the path, but its purpose transformed into something beautiful as I cut and dried the roots and gave it new life.

Week six

In chapter nine of Fields That Dream, Margaret Hauptman is bringing youth and gardens together. City kids, who are otherwise growing up without much connection to the natural world at all, are learning through their interactions with gardens. Really, gardens and education are synonomous, or should be, anyway -- gardens are amazing learning tools! The book states that "by 1918 every state in America and every province in Canada had at least one school garden" but that interest in school gardens declined when modern technologies were brought into the picture. Now, with people realizing the benefit of school gardens once again, children can grow up with an intimate connection and an understanding of plants and nature in ways they couldn't if it were separate. Kids grow up with the knowledge of how to feed themselves and self-sustainability in general, as you can also learn about not just food but medicine making, too -- which in turn leads to less dependency on the economic system. These children grow up to become inspiring and motivational community members, and if every community were a garden-raised community...how different would things be? School gardens shift the focus of learning with the land as opposed to learning against the land, and helps eliminate the viewpoint of the natural world existing merely to be manipulated and exploited.

I went to the Oregon desert this past weekend with some friends... the Oregon "Badlands", so they call it. The sagebrush was incredible, the whole desert smelled like it after a brief rainstorm. And there were thousands of old-growth Junipers, that was the best part. It was dry, but the sky was darkly overcast and was pouring down on the Cascades just a little west. Really a completely amazing experience.. there was volcanic rock jutting out of the desert floor, and supposedly there were some petroglyphs in caves nearby though I didn't see them. After the sun set we burned and smoked the sage, purifying ourselves, the moon was brilliant overhead and I heard coyotes yipping throughout the night. In the morning I tried identifying tracks in the sand.

Week seven

I would like to feel that all gardens are good ones, but I know this is not true. A garden can be bad if the intentions of the grower are bad, like if plants are grown in order to make poisons and kill people. I am using "bad" in the context of good and evil, however. "Bad" gardens in the context of being out of balance are common, and an example is a monoculture forest planted after a clear cut. That is not a real forest, it is a mockery of nature. I always say it is better they plant something, though, rather than NOTHING, but...I don't know the answer to this (besides not clear-cutting, of course). A good garden would be one that is in balance, and the most perfect garden I can think of is one that is loved so much and is so healthy and happy that it exudes an aura of peace and goodness, a real spiritual space. Any healthy part of the Earth is a good garden. Bad gardens exist because many people are out of touch with nature, they don't listen to the whispers of the trees when the wind blows through them, they don't hear the songs the rain sings. They don't try to understand. People have forgotten their connections and are like little ships lost at sea. And they have been lost at sea for so long that they can't remember which way is home... that is why I think there are bad gardens, as well as many other things in the world one could call bad.

I really enjoyed reading the latest chapter in The Earth's Blanket ("Everything is One"). It is just so true, and so obvious, that our actions have huge impacts. I can only shake my head in disbelief when hearing things like clear-cutting hundreds of miles of forest, and then wondering why the salmon are disappearing. It makes me really scared sometimes where the Earth is headed. I know she will heal herself in time, but how long will that take?? It is unnecessary.

Week eight

I am not sure why some people garden and some don't, I think it merely has to do with whether or not you recognize your connection to the natural world and if you get something out of the interaction with a garden/nature. Also if your culture is a "gardening" culture, so to speak, like how Marja in lecture talked about in India where gardens are valued for a variety of reasons, you would be more inclined to garden. Like she pointed out, though, there are people who don't garden in India -- why? What has made them lose this connection, or not see the value in them as their parents might? Likewise, what makes people take up gardening in the U.S.? I don't know the answers to these questions, but they are definitely worth thinking about. Something that I think about fairly frequently is how some people never leave a city, and they can go months or even years without ever having their feet touch real ground -- they are always on concrete. It is a really strange way of thinking about how reality is subjective, like that person would see sidewalks and roads and buildings but never fields or forests or rushing mountain rivers... so to them, what is the world? "Nature" becomes an abstract, something you shrug and say "Yeah, I've never seen a cornfield or anything but it exists somewhere, cause I'm eating corn, right?" but really your corn could be grown in a lab and never see the sunlight and you wouldn't know. This seems not related to why people garden, but if you think about it, why would one of these people whose reality is concrete/metal/glass/etc start gardening? I am going to go out on a limb here and suggest that perhaps it is because they can feel the tug of what is SUPPOSED to be. Maybe people garden because they are listening (not consciously, perhaps) to the little voice in them that is urging a reconnection with the Earth.

I've gotten a lot out of reading Fields That Dream. Every person's story provided insight into how people are realistically making changes, and repeatedly revealed an inner strength with each individual. I valued the opportunity the book gave me to see into the lives of people who are doing what I want to do; it gave me some useful ideas and tips to keep in mind as well as inspired me. There are some things I read in the book that I know I do not want to do and do not agree with, but at the same time I was able to get in the shoes of those people and understand why they make the choices they do and see where they are coming from.

I've gotten even more out of reading The Earth's Blanket, however. "Mindblown" is the only phrase to describe how I felt when I read some of the things in the book (which were also some things Marja touched on in lecture) about how indigenous people DID garden! And NOT in a stereotype of hunter/gatherer! I had no idea... you know, there is this overwhelming assumption that they just didn't do that kind of stuff, that only "civilized people" have gardened. It makes me angry how my mind has been molded from reactions that European settlers had to the First Peoples even though that was long ago. I cannot get over or communicate how much The Earth's Blanket changed some of my perceptions and how much I have made some of those stories my own and incorporated those words into myself.

Week nine

It was my birthday on Sunday; I turned 23. The years are going by and I'm evaluating where I am in my life as compared with past years, so I'm feeling the pull of things that happened in the past that I need to let go of. I think I only feel old when I drag too much along with me; it weighs me down. I understand now more than ever how emotionally draining it is to cling to things that aren't necessary. The plants taught me this and they continue to remind me this. I look at their little buds and think how they don't know where the world is going any more than I do (ok, well, I suppose it's always possible that plants have some sort of higher consciousness and know where we are all going, but for the sake of this, let's just say they dont) but they do what they have to do for the moment; they are only in the now, the present (but still being prepared for the future). I envy this ability to be so fully here and nowhere else. What I've lost is lost, I cannot change any of it. All that is left for me to do is let it go, let it fall, like a leaf, and it will stop at my feet and give me food to grow. What a wonderful concept.

Which leads me into... metaphors. I just used one: my relationships with others are like leaves, they fall and are lost but come back again anew after a part of the cycle of the seasons. I have rivers under my skin and a warm sun in my chest. I have a calm lake between my hips, a blue-skied open meadow in my heart, a bright red flower with huge strong roots stretching down through my feet.. when I close my eyes and visualize my energies (chakras) I see gardens. I am a garden: this is true both metaphorically and literally, though!

It is worth noting that it SNOWED on the day I was thinking hard about my own cycles. I thought that was fitting, somehow. Winter! I am ready. Snow, you are beautiful. Everything is frozen. The world is quiet; the plants seem to slumber. In Keeping a Nature Journal, they say the world seems barren until you focus in, and then you see how much really is going on. This is very true. Also, reminder to self: winter is the time of regeneration. Healing. Growing anew.

Oh, my... this quarter has taught me so much. I am so thankful for the connection I have begun with this place. I have learned so many NW plants; I think I am the most excited about that. I came here not being able to identify a single one, but now I think I wouldn't even be able to list all the ones I've met and now know! I wish to end this fall's reflections with an intention, just as the quarter was begun, and it is simply this: to keep my eyes and ears open.