July 4, 2020
Protest is patriotic.

Protest is patriotic.

We were holding at New Carrollton Station. Ten minutes or so passed before there was an announcement. The first announcement said that there was a “medical condition.” The second, perhaps five minutes later, referred to a “medical emergency” and that we were waiting for medical personnel to arrive. The third announced a “medical situation” and that we were still waiting for “appropriate medical persons” to come, but that we would leave as soon as they arrived. The final announcement let us know that the medical personnel had arrived and that we were about to depart for the next station. That we were leaving immediately upon arrival made it most likely that the person who was sick was leaving the train to go to the emergency room
Sure. I sent a text to the friend scheduled to pick me up on the other end of my trip and wondered how late I would be. Mostly, I took the experience as a reminder to be grateful that I was merely going to be late to visit friends and family (who would be perfectly understanding) and was not suffering from an accident or sudden illness. I spent a few moments in meditation, holding this stranger and those human beings who lives were just shifted by being in relationship to a greater or lesser degree to this stranger. I contemplated how those 15 minutes of waiting may have been of extreme pain and fear.
The grapes are not nearly as bountiful as last year. The first 90F week was too early and sudden, which blasted dozens of newly formed grapes. And then it was too wet and cool. The few figs dried before ripening. But it was a great spring for kale and chard, and the cherry tomatoes are pretty happy. That the weather makes some things happier and some less happy is a tangible reminder why mono-cultures are so risky a venture. One of the greatest gifts I get from the “failures” in my edible garden is gratitude. I am reminded of how fortunate I am that the only repercussions of something not growing or producing well is that I have to buy more produce at the farm market or the grocery store.
The rains and now the heat are wondrous lovely for the mosquitoes. Here’s me dressing for a morning’s work in the garden. You might laugh, but I only got two bites in over three hours in the garden, which included watering. It likely would have been at least a dozen in loose trousers or shorts and a t-shirt. This is also the outfit of choice when hiking in the woods filled with deer and mice and lyme-disease bearing ticks.
I picked the marigolds yesterday to put on the altar. The puja card of the day was “balance” or “samtulana.” It was a perfect concept to meditate on for the day because little brings me back into balance better than spending a few hours gardening, and I’ve been feeling off-kilter.
Uma, of course, was there to lend moral support.
The “before” picture gives some idea of how simultaneously overgrown from the rains and heat-blasted from the past week everything was.
The “after” picture doesn’t reflect as much as I would like how much of a difference three and a half hours of weeding, deadheading, clipping, rearranging, harvesting, feeding, and watering made. When I got hungry, I just picked sun-warmed, just ripened grapes and then got back to work. Lunch, of course, emphasized contributions from the garden.
I practiced, including a Zoom class led by my friend Suzanne Lynch, I asked for help, I expressed appreciation to various friends and colleagues, I went out into the garden at lunchtime, made several more donations, and sat under the cat. And I re-centered enough to be able to persist.
I hope you all are finding your way in this. Let me know if you want to practice–on-line.1
