A few decades ago we bought a piece of land adjoining ours, a 23 acre parcel oriented north and south in a long rectangle. Along its east edge runs Spring Creek, straight as an arrow, because years before there was a decree among neighbors to amend the stream for fast and efficient drainage. There was one holdout, the then-owner of our original 20 acres, who refused to take part. So today the creek has been straightened against its will except for one small segment where it enjoys great purpose as it snakes its way through willows and sedges.
On the banks of the dredged portion lie piles of spoil from the excavator and remnant oxbows where meanders were forcibly disconnected from the channel. On the spoil mounds the hackberries and sycamores have matured and brambly thickets have formed and mink find den sites. The wounds from the dredge have softened, so today the views up and downstream are rather delightful in spite of prior abuses.
On the western border of the property is a mixed woodland with scattered openings. It was damaged years ago by grazing cattle, and its healing has been slow. The wildflowers and understory that typify a deciduous forest have been reluctant to return, but they are returning, struggling as they must against the influence of bush honeysuckle.
Between the recovering woodland on the west and the channeled creek on the east lay nine acres of flat and productive bottomland. In the woodland a spring bubbles from the ground and skips across the woodland floor a distance before being collected in a riser and carried underground to the creek.
We used the tillable soil for growing shade and ornamental trees, evergreens and flowering shrubs, to help stock our landscape business. The land was productive and the plants grew well, but we were haunted by the spring water being funneled away, seemingly wasted. So we sacrificed a few acres of nursery and constructed a pond where the spring could pool and grow fish and wildfowl and offer us a swimming hole before passing through onto the creek.
A half lifetime later we sold the business but not the land, and the “north 20” was left to its own devices. Unbeknownst to us there were plans, established centuries ago, to build a grand cathedral on the site, and now construction had commenced in earnest. There were no architectural drawings, no committees, no fundraisers or budgets, only steadfast development. Already, a choir of birds appeared and were holding dawn rehearsals. And a mixture of plants, goldenrod and brambles and elms and oaks, began occupying the cathedral. New members showed up unannounced and were welcomed, as the congregation was open to all. And in its willingness to embrace differences, its diversity, value, and function improved. The soil was free of disturbance for the first time in a century, and in it a complex communication and hydrologic system began to take shape, one specifically designed for the cathedral’s needs.
The work continues today, with no scheduled completion date. This morning we took a tour to measure progress, raspberry pails in hand. The picking was excellent for a crop requiring no cultivation or pruning, fertilization or irrigation, just picking. We suspect a congregation member brought in the first plants, perhaps a visiting raccoon or a member of the choir, and now the ripening berries invite others to join. Such is the selfless giving within the assembly.
While picking, I was drawn deep into the chambers of the cathedral, in and out of shadows, over obstacles, through vines and thorny branches. And I found myself in a clearing with not a single recognizable landmark, uncertain of the way out. Inside a mere 23 acres I was momentarily lost, and it was good.
The cathedral building crews, with their quiet persistence, attention to detail, and an attitude of acceptance toward participants, has made incredible headway, but things are not exactly as they seem. Within all the positive progress is reason for concern. We have seen, over the past 10-15 years, certain species grow increasingly scarce or disappear entirely, despite perfect habitat conditions. Among them, several snakes: the hog nose, black, fox, milk, even the common water snake. All were once seen regularly, but now rarely. Ditto the eastern box turtle. Ditto many of the frogs and toads, grasshoppers and dragonflies, katydids and mantids.
The arrival of certain species, horned owls or wild turkeys or a family of foxes, are quick to attract attention and give the illusion that a balanced and healthy system is taking shape. But global threats are at work, extinctions are on the rise, diversity is crashing and the ecological heart of the planet is at risk. To say it will get worse is not negativity, it’s reality. To say we can save ourselves might be true, but will we?
A recent Hopi prophecy says we are no longer living in the eleventh hour, but The Hour:
“There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are being torn apart and will suffer greatly. Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above the water.
And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate. At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally, least of all ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey come to a halt.
The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word ’struggle’ from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.”
Some of us live in denial of environmental threats or feel helpless to do anything, a position requiring no actual study or consideration. Others believe technology will provide solutions and our consumptive economy will go on clicking, which passes the burden of finding a remedy onto a select few engineers and tech wizards. Some who study the threats are anxious and depressed and filled with hopelessness, which beyond being unhealthy, challenges a genuine joy and zest for life.
A Hopi elder recites the prophecy, smiles at his people and says, “This could be a good time!” His invitation requires a conscious effort to choose the way we prepare and react to environmental calamity. It means learning to recognize and anticipate our own survival behaviors and putting in their place a generous and compassionate spirit that thrives in community and relationship.
It’s heavy stuff for me. My gut reaction is to head to the North 20 and pick raspberries and leave my concerns under a tangle of brambles. I’d rather be at peace with my lower animal self and focus on tending the garden and filling the root cellar and doing practical and wholesome things because I enjoy using less and being self-sufficient, but not because I’m preparing for a painful and difficult time. An attitude of celebration will take some work.
Teddy Roosevelt said, “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” He was addressing troops during the Spanish American war, but they are solid words for today. The Hopi elders would agree.
