I thought about blueberry lemonade, but the blueberries from the farmer’s market are too good to be popsicles. I want to eat them by the handful fresh.
Instead, I paired pink grapefruit juice with minced peppermint from the garden and a hint of vodka at the top.
One of the delights of my trip to Tucson, was visiting the Native Seed Search’s shop. Native Seed Search works to gather, safeguard, and distribute native and adapted seeds to farming and gardening communities, and to educate farmers and gardeners about the uses of those seeds. When I go to Tucson, I make sure to visit the shop (so much more fun than shopping on-line) to buy unique varieties of peppers and beans for cooking.
The first time I went — three years ago — I did not buy any seeds. I was not certain that I should be bringing seeds from the southwest to DC for planting. This year, after the last two years of heat and drought, I bought a few varieties of southwestern greens and some pink green beans to try in containers. I had a good chat with the workers in the shop about shifting what we plant as the climate changes even as we might otherwise try to avoid bringing new species into the area.
I went small with this experiment. As long as I do not let the amaranth (to eat as greens not grain) go to seed and pick the beans to eat or replant, nothing will spread. It will be interesting to observe if these plants require less water or tolerate more heat here than the greens and beans we are more accustomed to planting.
It was also wonderful, on this icy cold day, to take the seed packets out of my bag in anticipation of spring. Planting season for cool weather greens, etc (etc meaning beets, turnips, and radishes) is only a couple of weeks away.
Last weekend I devoted most of my time to live-streaming the “Accessible Yoga Conference.” This conference, consistent with other workshops on this and related topics involved listening to many personal stories and careful examination of language—what language perpetuates harm and which fosters inclusion, recognition, nonjudgment, etc.
The fact that “accessible yoga” is a thing was observed to be evidence that for all that the yoga philosophy invites recognition and honor of the spirit in all, what is considered “yoga” in the “West”is another microcosm of cis, het, racist, patriarchal, colonialist capitalism.
I wanted to share, because I found it so moving and because I have such profound respect for his teaching, the recent reflections from Todd Norian about the healing process.
As I have walked around town enjoying the spring surge of blossoming trees, I found myself remembering that our most famous cherry blossoms were a gift from the Japanese, which remembrance sent a deeper yearning to help send healing.
At one sunny, pink-blossomed drenched moment yesterday, I found myself asking how could one’s heart not reach out to a people who brought us such beauty. I then thought that this country had no problem incarcerating “those” people on “our” soil and bombing their country when the arrival of the gift of our famous cherry trees was still in living memory. At that time, “they” had become our country’s enemies because of the actions and statements of those in power. The gift had become irrelevant in the context of war.
The peril in both thoughts is that they distance us from opening and relating to the essential identity and humanity in all of the individuals we meet of various nationalities and alliances–whether in a time of gift-giving or in a time when we cannot abide the actions or ideas of those in power.
Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
