How does your garden grow

Posted on | June 12, 2009 | 11 Comments

Oh, my. Summer is at the gate, straining at her lead and ready to gallop. So much growth happening so fast and always the sense that I can’t ever catch up. Clearly I’m still too fragmented in my efforts.

Two years ago I began to envision work that allows me to be at home, pay the bills and have plenty of time left over to manage my gardens effectively, work on my own writing and get my home and family life in order. A year ago the opportunities began to present themselves and I started taking the steps. Shortly after, it all fell apart and it’s been an upstream slog to get this new home business lifestyle working for us. I’m nowhere near close to where I want to be, but I’m facing the right direction.

Looking back over this last year, I see what looks like a million moments of me staring down yet another obstacle and feeling the fight rise up with balled fists, stamping feet and petulant whining. But I’ve managed each time, after a bit, to bow my head and look away from the sparks and stop feeding the fire, then to will and witness my feet taking another step forward.

I’ve told the story less. Sure, I’ve told it, trying to at least put a funny spin on it, acknowledge the ridiculous nature of getting caught up in this financial snowball as it hurtles downhill. Then I dealt with the emotional hangover. I don’t know if it’s just a function of age, or maybe maturity, but it gets harder and harder to process that particular brand of toxic. So I’ve become quieter, which is not an easy thing for me. I’m a bridge-maker. I fill the silence with sound and story so I don’t have to hear the wind whistling its lonely song in all the crevasses of my life.

I don’t know how to not worry that you take my quiet as a sign that I’m upset with you. Even if you never say so. So we’re there together and I don’t know what to do with the quiet or how to make small talk without pulling faces, and I tell myself to shhhh, keep my own counsel, it’s OK to just be quiet. Until it’s not and maybe you ask a question, so I mention the lack of pay, or the renters moving out. And we’re off and running and my stomach begins to churn and here we go back to the start again.

We’re skating along here. Nothing has stabilized and the phone rings 50 times a day because the bank would like some money. But they’re not going to get it unless they let us sell the house for less than what we owe, and so we dance.

I work every day on envisioning and opportunities pop up –some days two or three. Many are volunteer. Some with potential for pay down the road. All are related to building a local food economy and educating people about sustainable practices. They’re all projects I feel passionate about, but there are only so many hours in the day, and as one new friend said “you can’t feed your family altruism.”

So I ask for more clarity. I write in an effort to find it. I listen to the thumpity thump of my heart and continue to meet with new people. I speak less and listen more. I work on trying not to finish these people’s thoughts for them when they pause and I fail because oh, how my ego wants to bridge every gap.

But here’s what I bring myself back to every day when the panic sets in: I’m finding my tribe. I’m opening myself to Ohio and Ohio is unfurling her Buckeye leaves and presenting me with all her hope and beauty. There are people here who want to do good work. They’re inviting me to step out on the road with them.

How can I see that happening and not believe that what I want is possible?

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