Wildflower Stew

Peace through music

I have had the experience of losing everything. Not in a hurricane but in a fire. You never know what it is really like until it happens to you. The things you don’t expect - how it takes away your sense of yourself for all your clothes to suddenly disappear, the fabric that kept you warm, folded to your shape, held your scent, identified you to your neighbors across the way. (I knew you by your red quilted jacket.)

And the things that are always at hand, your cookbook, your scissors, your hairbrush - gone. Your hand reaches out and there’s nothing there. Then there are the big things - the pictures that can never be replaced, your history ripped away from you leaving you rootless and abandoned, your children without memories. The things you love, the things that make you who you are; not the big expensive things but the little personal things that make you who you are. Gone, all gone. Multiplied by a whole community. All that is left is what we carry in our hearts. We can write and sing about it but we can never touch it again in real life. It is like when someone you love dies.

What do we, as a society, do when a whole community loses everything? Is it not relevant to look at how we deal with loss and grief?

When the word went out that Ike was going to hit Galveston, the community was divided into the haves and the have nots - have a car or have not a car (or gas money for car). The ones with the cars were directed to all available motel rooms. The ones without were herded onto buses without being told where they were going. They were taken to shelters like the convention center and the smaller community centers and high school gyms in Austin and other towns in central Texas. They were not told to bring bedding. When they got here, there were no cots, no blankets, nothing to sleep on but the hard concrete floors. A representative of the Red Cross actually said on television that first night that they did not supply cots because they didn’t want people to stay too long. This was quickly swept under the rug before the full effect of that statement sunk in and some city official said they were getting cots out to the people, which mostly they never did and then after a couple of days they turned around and kicked people out of most of the shelters (even though there were road blocks preventing them from getting back home - or what was left of it) because money-making events were scheduled and, of course, could not be cancelled. Money would be lost.

The first few days people were just dumped into these places, no bedding, no food and sometimes very little water, and definitely no adequate restrooms. There was a complete media blackout. The Austin media interviewed a couple of carefully selected evacuees but were never allowed to interview people at random or go inside the shelters. Reporter Sara Foley was assigned by her editor to board a bus taking people with special needs to Austin when a mandatory evacuation was ordered for Galveston Island. She filed news stories and blogs about the experience until she was thrown out of the shelter. This really happened. This is really scarey stuff. Read about her experiences here. Meanwhile, down in Galveston, the mayor ordered a media blackout and ordered city employees not to talk to any media. The publisher of the Galveston County Daily News said: “A news blackout will cause those people, helpless evacuees, to suffer longer. Not knowing the full story is the worst pain they face, and the city has helped prolong and make that pain greater by blocking access to news.” You can read the full story here.
I talked with some people who were staying in a small community center across the street from where I live and that is how I found out what was really happening.

As word got out, the people of Austin responded overwhelmingly through the food bank with half a million dollars and half a million pounds of food - in just two days. It’s not that the people didn’t care. It’s that the government system is set up to assert maximum control over people for the least possible expenditure of money and resources. I got the feeling that the bureaucracy has just two ways of dealing with events like this - ignore them or treat people like a prison population.

I read a Norweigan newspaper every week just to get a different perspective. The attitude of the government toward the people in Norway is totally different than it is here. Norway is a social democracy. There is an ethic of fairness built in to the system. There are instances of corruption but they are bumps in the road compared to the mountains of disdain that this government dishes out to its citizens. It is possible to have a fair, respectful government. I think I read the Norweigan newspaper just to remind myself of this.

But the Norweigan government got that way because it reflects the will of the people and at this point in our national history we have a chance to change the tune that has had so many people dancing like marionettes on the string of buy-more, consume-more, screw your neighbor. Katrina changed more than many people realize. In Texas, thousands of people opened their homes to strangers, literally. Total strangers from another culture and another place. They spontaneously brought them into their personal space and fed them and comforted them and helped them in every way they could.

Thousands more went to New Orleans to help, just as they have gone to Galveston, just as my great-grandmother did in 1900. People are basically herd animals and we will take care of our own. Our government does not reflect this. This is the change it’s time for. We can influence this change by our actions. The new path our country takes will be built by us, from the grassroots UP this time.

The least we can do for people who have lost everything is to let them know they have not lost their place in the fabric of life.

The “news” these days is all about the horse race for president and the wild rollercoaster ride on Wall Street but for those of us, the majority of the voting, buying participants in the American elections and economy, who have neither 401ks nor stock options, who live paycheck to paycheck if we’re lucky enough to have a steady paycheck or eke out a meager existence on “fixed” incomes (that’s “fixed” as in stabbing a pin through the butterfly so it won’t fly away fixed), the reality is way different. Here in Texas, thousands of people have suffered a major trauma and heartbreaking loss. It is not old news; it’s current heartache that is going to be going on for a long time. It’s part of my life and so I intend to tell the real story, the real news, about what is going on here now, what came before and what we can do to help.

The Saga of Ike

Another full circle in my life. When I was growing up on the coast of Texas in the ’40s and ’50s my grandmother used to tell me stories of her mother taking her four young daughters and a big tent and going down to Galveston to feed the survivors of the hurricane of 1900, the one that killed 6,000 people, this country’s worst ever natural disaster. That was my grandmother’s first memory; she was three years old. They spent two months in the steamy aftermath of a storm that no one had any way to anticipate.

I’ve weathered a few hurricanes in my day and they are scarey. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. But the game has changed a lot since my grandmother’s day. For one thing, we can anticipate the storms. That’s the good news. But the bad news is that there are so many more people living on the coast that getting out of the way is very problematical. The pictures of the gridlock on the highways before Rita hit Houston, the burned-out bus full of old people - that image is burned in my mind.

And the way we build on the coasts. When I was a child living near Padre Island, no one built big fancy homes or hotels right on the water. Duh. There were beach houses - simple wooden structures, maybe on stilts, palm-thatched cabanas, fishing shacks. If they blew away, oh well. Pick up the wood and build something else.

And the wetlands, the marshes and tidal bays, teeming with life, where I watched the Aransas Wildlife Refuge come together and where I would go each winter to spy on the recovering tribe of Whooping Cranes we had saved there.

And we would walk the sands of the barrier island, the hundred mile long island of white sand dunes and waving sea grasses, for miles with no sign of humans, no footprints, no plastic - no plastic! It was a National Seashore, like a National Forest - protected.

The storms were a natural phenomenon then. The natural protections of the wetlands diffused the destructive power of wind and wave and common sense diffused the impulse to build up every square foot of land. Some places rightfully belong in their natural state.

And then there is the fact that the hurricanes are much bigger and badder because of our arrogance, too. So it is with this background that I look at the Saga of Ike.

To be continued . . . . .

It seems to me that this financial mess is like this - if I had $100 in a bank account and some robber came in and robbed the bank and took my $100 and everybody else’s money, too, and the bank called me up and said, “We want you to put another $100 in your account to replace the hundred that got stolen.” What’s wrong with that picture?! I’ve seen a lot of alternative scenarios since that sorry plan got floated but here’s the one that makes the most sense to me. . . . thank you, Ken.

Bail Out the American People!

I’m against the $700,000,000,000 bailout of the architects of America’s economic collapse.

Ken Boschert
zenken7@yahoo.com

When I was a kid, there were certain things growing wild that we knew it was okay to eat. Wild mint and watercress down by the creek, baby dandelion leaves, and a flowering shrub with bright red flowers you could pick and suck the sweet nectar from the end of the trumpet-shaped blooms. We knew never to eat china berries or hack berries. I don’t remember how we knew. Someone must have told us. There were huge oleander bushes lining my grandmother’s driveway. They are extremely toxic. We never went near them. We just knew.

At the right time of the year, there would be wild onion, wild carrot and something that looks (and tastes) like asparagus. All these things were available to an observant child growing up in the country, close to the natural world. There are worlds more of edible foods, herbs and wild crafting supplies for the taking out there - for an amazingly complete rundown on surviving on wild plants see: http://www.wilderness-survival.net/plants-1.php

These days it is becoming popular in some neighborhoods to turn up the front yard and plant a garden. Excellent idea! The kids get to see where some of their food comes from, for one thing. But what about the back yard - or whatever area you have around you where you live? Can you find a spot to turn from landscaped (water-intensive, chemical dependent) back to the wild?

As more and more land gets put into play for humans - agriculture, subdivisions, golf courses, etc. - less and less is available for the critters. People start seeing wildlife in their backyards, coyotes in Central Park. Where else can they go? And then there’s the crazy weather and floods and fires. I read about the wildlife in the fires near Big Sur running toward the ocean to escape the flames. What will they do when they get there?

I know that in the places I’ve been the last few years, even urban areas, the birds and animals are coming closer. I don’t know if they are losing their fear or just doing what they have to do to survive. But I know that it feels right to try to make some room for them too, in whatever way we can, as we all try to cope with our suffering planet. The payback may be waking up to watch deer graze out your bedroom window just before dawn or attracting the most beautiful butterflies, the migrating birds, the best chorus of frogs after a rain.

I was lucky enough to spot a hummingbird nest (no easy task - they are very small) and show it to my grandson when he was two and we watched as the parents fed the extremely small babies and saw them take off in their tiny perfection when they were fledged. How can you compare that with a manicured lawn that has to be mowed with a gasoline powered lawn mower which sounds like some kind of demon from hell?

Cities have all kinds of ordinances about these things as do neighborhood associations. In Austin your grass can’t be more than 12 inches high. Period. That requires lots of mowing. Maybe we should pass an ordinance outlawing lawns!

Then the hummingbirds and butterflies and possums and deer and red tailed hawks could share our space with us and we’d all be a lot better off.

The National Wildlife Federation will certify your very own backyard wildlife refuge if you register with them. They have been offering the certifications since 1973. By the spring of 2008, there were almost 100,000 National Wildlife Federation certified habitats in backyards, schoolyards, just down the road, coming to your neighborhood soon.

There is so much news these days of things that are going wrong. It filled my heart with joy to hear about something that’s going right.

The Wild Sky Wilderness bill protecting a 106,000-acre Wilderness in the heart of the Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest in the Cascade Mountains of Washington state passed the U.S. Senate with both Democratic and Republican Senators giving unanimous approval and was signed into law by President Bush. The area includes low-elevation old growth forests home to black bears, bald eagles, mountain goats, wolverines, cougars and spotted owls. The wilderness designation eliminates logging, mining, off-road vehicles, even cars. Virtually all motors are prohibited. You can’t even fire up a chain saw. Wheelchairs would be allowed, and the proposal calls for a 2-mile former logging road to be converted to a wheelchair-accessible trail.

The area is already visited by thousands of people every year. Many people come just to watch the salmon runs. They also enjoy hiking, climbing, rafting, fishing, and in the winter cross country skiing. Several picturesque small towns in the area directly benefit from this steady flow of visitors.

The bill was sponsored by Sen. Patty Murray and Rep. Rick Larsen, both D-Wash.. It is the first new federally designated wilderness in Washington since 1984. The Wilderness Society worked closely with the Wild Washington Campaign to preserve this unique area for future generations.
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I Know You Wild Skykomish

Rebecca Swan
May 2008

I woke up this Earth Day in Austin, Texas, to a light rain washing the air clean of city pollution, at least temporarily, and giving the newly leafed-out trees and the wildflowers the morning blessing of water. Recently I saw one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen on screen about water - the movie The Unforeseen. It’s about Barton Springs, a spring-fed swimming hole that wells up from the fragile limestone Edwards aquifer along Barton Creek right in the middle of downtown Austin and the battle between the environmental activists of Governor Ann Richards’ days in the early 90s and the destructive overdevelopment that followed under Governor George W Bush. It tells the story in poignant first person interviews of the developer who had it all and lost it in disgrace and bankruptcy, of the rancher still working his land in the midst of a jungle of new subdivisions knowing when he dies his land will be sold and subdivided and chopped up for even more houses.

The film opens and closes with lines from a poem by Wendell Berry, “The Unforeseen.” Using heartfelt, up close and personal interviews with Robert Redford, Willie Nelson, William Grieder of the Rolling Stone, the late Ann Richards among others - and the developer who talks about what motivated him to leave the precarious farming existence of his family in West Texas and come to the city to make his mark and the precipitous rise and fall that followed.

By the end of the film it is possible to feel the humanity in all the players. Well, with a couple of exceptions; a news clip of George W’s inaugeration as governor and a really creepy interview of a former lobbyist whose fingers are shown putting together model war planes as he describes his years beating out the environmentalists at the state capital. But this is the genius of the film. It shows the tragedy of human folly with compassion - which opens the door for healing. And it shows with exceptional photography the fragile beauty of the springs, how much we have lost, how quickly we could lose it all.

This is the Austin version of what is going on everywhere. It’s a beautiful film and deserves the many awards, including Sundance and The Independent Spirit Award, it has received. If you get a chance, I hope you will see it.

And happy Earth Day . . . thanks, mom . . . . .

View from my bedroom window this morning . . . . swan . . . .

Maybe one reason it doesn’t bother me so much to live in the city now is that I carry all the years I lived on the land around inside of me, running through my consciousness like a river, always close to my heart . . . the pristine beauty, the crisp first snowfall steps, the smooth river rock glistening, the gulf coast breeze in my hair. All the years of living close to mother in her many guises has given me something I guess I can never be separated from.

I haven’t forgotten the difference or gotten used to being in the city but I think for now I have accepted that my personal desire to live in pristine places is secondary to my concern about what is happening to all of us and I try to think what I can do, because I really am privileged compared to a lot of people, having a safe place to live, enough food and a computer even though I live way below the “poverty level” - for this country. So I advocate and I write because I am a writer. Maybe sharing my experiences and what I’ve learned will be of some help.

I think it is very very important for as many people as possible to live on the land in communities and become self-sufficient, growing food, securing their own water and producing their own power sources. The day is coming very soon when we will no longer have the option of driving around in personal gasoline-powered vehicles. Long distance hauling of goods, including food, will become prohibitively expensive. Power grids may fail or become outrageously polluting.

After almost 40 years of traveling, visiting communities and living in community, I am convinced that the most important factor in the success of a community is the combination of human energy - the personalities that make up the community, their common ground and the quality of their relationship to each other. The right combination can create a dynamic that can accomplish miraculous things. So I would say - if you are creating a community, put together the members as carefully as you would put together a band, or the colors in a painting, or the characters in a novel. When you have the right mix, you will know and your community will sing!

The next thing is - be prepared to work hard. Community building is not for the faint hearted. It requires fanaticism and deep love. It demands passion. Anything less and you will fall by the wayside. It also requires the discrimination to be able to say no when it is necessary, to know that some days are going to be hard and some days are going to be sad and be able to handle that, to be pragmatic and non-judgemental, to always come back to what is in the best interest of the community as a whole and to always look forward to what actions will secure the future of the community.

It takes years to get the soil right for an organic garden, years for those spindly fruit trees to bear fruit, years to get the hang of the seasons in your particular spot, when to plant, what pests to watch out for (see beyondpesticides.org ) and when to harvest before the first frost. Take time to lay the ground work well, make a place for the old folks and the children, get to know your neighbors. This is sacred work.

The thing I liked best about living in the country was the continual accompaniment of the rhythms of the natural world. In early morning, before dawn, I would wake to the soft sounds of doves calling me out of sleep into a pearly light as ethereal as a feather. I would quietly make a cup of coffee and slip out the door to walk to the river.

Deer would come down to the river, delicate and alert, reverently bowing their heads to the water and drinking, stepping back quickly to look around at the slightest sound, then bowing to drink again, and then they would all together, as if on cue, rush suddenly away.

The great blue heron would appear, stately, staking out an auspicious place in the shallows to stand and peer for hours and then like a flash to dip and catch a wayward fish that had flickered into its pool, swallow it down, and solemnly return to motionless standing until it tired of that spot and, with a hideous squawk that sounded like it could have come from a prehistoric dinosaur, rise up on its magnificent 6-foot wide wingspan and swoop away down the river.

As the sun broke the horizon, the song birds would chime in. First the tentative calls and twits, then the full-throated operettas of those who were so disposed. For about an hour the resident bird population and those passing through put on the morning concerto as I put on the morning breakfast and began my work for the day. This was also the hour for the insects to appear, a fact I would be particularly aware of if my work for the day was in the garden, and the bird/insect feeding cycle would begin.

The red tailed hawks and vultures would appear later after the sun had been up for awhile, hitting the thermals for warm up rounds, getting ready for a day’s cruising for fresh meat or last night’s road kill. By noon only the buzzards would remain, the carnal garbage collectors, an ever present reminder of the nearness of death in paradise.

Late afternoon would bring cicadas, a signal to me to start winding down my day and think about dinner. On a good year, cicadas rock the woods. I love them. To my ears they are the string section just tuning up. After a rain they are joined by the syncopated percussion of the frogs and the persistent whine of mosquitos. Which drives us inside where we hear the persistent hum of fans.

Finally the twilight comes. Deer graze across the way on the far side of the pasture, watchful but at peace. The cicadas fade out, the air cools and a soft breeze comes up. Fireflies peek out here and there sending indecipherable messages as if a few stars had fallen and tried to speak. I look up in the clear summer sky, a carpet of diamonds unfolds. As above, so below.

Rebecca Swan
Summer 07