Good Morning Starlight,
I noticed giant pickle jars full of brown liquid stuffed with banana peels stacked on the kitchen counter this morning. My husband is fermenting the peels to draw out potassium to give a special juice to his baby plants. This is the third summer my husband has grown an herb garden from seed. It is the second year growing in a greenhouse he built. I've watched him meticulously care for his plants each year, spending time with them every morning and afternoon. He checks for bugs, molds, or critters. He adjusts the light, the humidity, and the soil balance. He reads books, blogs, and talks to other growers. Each year, there are failures and successes and something new to do differently next time.
One night, we told each other something we loved about one another. I told him I love that he has become a careful gardener.
We do things dissimilarly. My gardening style welcomes all the wildlings and celebrates each of them as they overcrowd one another. When a bug infestation arises, my husband will wash every leaf, and I will watch the bugs eat every leaf.
My husband grows annuals in a greenhouse, and I grow a perennial garden of native plants. I'm not sure it's fair to say, "I grow natives," as all I did was prepare the soil twelve years ago and move a few neighboring plants into the bed, and they took it from there with grand gestures of purple in May and gold and pink in July.
I'm not great at caretaking, hence my gardening style. I'm more of a seer, sower, seeder, self-starter, and hardy survivor.
I'm confused by the word caretaker. We use it interchangeably with caregiver, but giver and taker are opposites, right?
Someone I love is sick; mentally unwell. I’m observing their thinking-choices and watching them break. I'm sitting apart from them thinking: If only you would choose A instead of B if only you, if only you, if only you, if only I, if only I, if only I. I stay mostly silent. I worry I am wrong, worry I will hurt them more, worry they will hurt me more. The other day, they told me they couldn't feel joy. I can help you feel joy, I thought. I can't make anyone feel anything I know.
Later, I remembered when my sister died, I wished I had been able to love her without thinking she would be happier if she did A or B. I know I would have been happier if she was happier.
Later, I spoke to my living sister about my dead sister and the person we love who is cracking. She told me we might be unable to stop wishing someone would choose A instead of B because we don't want people we love to suffer. She reminded me of how she felt angry when my sister laughed about smoking crack, and we both laughed together thinking about our audacious sister laughing about crack, but laughing about crack isn't that funny except in the most hopeless way.
Maybe I can show the person I love what brings me joy when I feel joy. This does not require the effort of trying to make them feel joy which they may not be able to feel. Sharing my joy doesn’t leave me joyless where as attempting to change something I can’t does.
When I listen to Juice World VERY loud in my car I cry for my sister.
I cry for the inner suffering I can't wipe away from people like bugs on a plant.
Sometimes, I cry because I want care from others for my most feral self. I'd love for someone to notice the bugs on me and wash me vs. watch me be eaten alive.
Sometimes, I cry because I'm still learning to recognize my weedy self as something wonderful.
Sometimes I cry: “OH MY GOD! Look!” Which could be the beavers swimming by me on the river as the sun sets behind the cobalt mountains, or the lilacs in my driveway, or my son asleep with his arm crossed over his face, or the little leaf that looks like a bird at my feet.
I take pictures of my joy and send them to the person I love.
Touching Matters
Save the date! I will be sharing my most recent ceramic collection at Alder & Co in Hudson, NY, on June 15th from 5 to 7 p.m. The collection will be in store (442 Warren st) through the summer.
I never thought about the language of caregiving/caretaking! How strange. A caretaker is usually a person who takes care of things- places, plants, property. A caregiver is usually a person who takes care of other people. But we are all caregivers and takers- even the most independent, “I don’t need anything from anyone” among us. Last night I saw Hadestown, really because Ani is in it right now. My two most favorite moments were when she danced gracefully across the stage- leaping, spinning, so feminine, in a dress and long curls- so unlike my old images of her. It was good to see her play this character too, when 25 years ago I fell in love with her shaved head, dirty mouth, and truth-telling swagger. The other moment was so beautiful that tears welled up. A song in which the swelling of the chorus matched huge swaying lights set in motion by the actors. I thought about what it was like when the designer came up with this idea and how much practice it must have required to choreograph it, and everyone’s joy in rehearsal when they finally got it just right. Last night it was just right- like movement and the light and the sound of their voices singing all riding the same wave. For a moment I rode it too.
Lovely words to read this quiet Sunday morning as birds make music in my back yard. I’m a wild gardener too. I am so excited to see your collection of ceramics and the preview is magnificent😊🙏🏼