Spring is such a charming season. Bright blooms to swoon over, the understory shines for a time while the trees blossom, daily tasks are accompanied by a chorus of birds & frogs. This spring in particular, I have been broken open by its arrival. I have given birth & am learning to mother. So, my routine has drastically shifted; rather than working long hours in the field my days are determined by the needs of an awakening, hungry, joyful, chubby-cheeked, gummy-smiled, precious life. The care of loved ones & acquaintances & the unfurling foliage have been assistants in helping me shape this new identity.
For three months we have been fed homemade meals from many kitchens. The warming soups, bone broths, muffins, scones, salads, curries, sustenance of all sorts, have been powerful. Friends have arrived to a mess of dishes & crumbs, just to assure the sink is clear & hot tea is steeping when they leave. They have gotten teary as they are presented new life. Those nearby have gathered groceries for us when they are out & about. Once we arrived home from the birth center, Leah arrived to read helpful nursing tips aloud to me. A couple of weeks later, Rebekah came with me to lactation support group & I felt so loved sitting next to her during a vulnerable time. I think that nursing is the hardest thing I have yet to do. But at the same time, I am finding the mammalian experience of feeding my baby with my own body to be incredibly bonding & special. Sammie knew how thirsty I was for awhile, so she pulled tart cherries from the freezer for fresh juice. Jane provided pelvic steams that eased my body towards healing. A collection of farmers have shown up in their spare time to help finish tomato seeding, pot up brassicas for plant sale, prepare soil trays for the next succession of salad, or hoe the weeds while they are still small. A generous group gathered on a Sunday afternoon to prepare beds & begin the annual onion planting. Underneath the shade of an apple tree, Ansel napped on Clover’s chest for hours. This is just a handful of tender moments that I feel life is so deeply shaped by.
Under capitalism, parenting & growing food parallel one another. Which makes sense given that work is a tether to meeting basic needs. Many of us are raised to romanticize the bi-parental family dynamic, but in a society that fails to provide any tangible support for those who become parents. Just the same, the farmer is individualized, often isolated & not guaranteed access to land, equipment, a fair wage, healthcare, paid leave, etc. Once seeds have greeted soil, many small acts of attention help maintain the cycle of growth that follows. The watering needs, ideal planting conditions, preferred soil amendments, harvest schedules, & pressure from pests, diseases, & weeds differ widely between crops. A load that becomes sustainable only when completed in community. This is where we are able to dream up new ways of living, caring, & growing together.
These days I am meditating on The Mother Secret by Sophie Strand
I have a secret. you are — whether moss, falcon, mycelium, or lonely dawn-watcher at the riverside, a mother. And you are mothered. By the galactic complexity in your gut, by seasons and pollen and footstep sucking mud, by the twin wings of your lungs, by the green wind that comes to gently tuck a curl behind your ear. Your body mothers you.
And child-like you nuzzle deep inside other bodies. Forest bodies. Spore bodies. Weather bodies as blue and vast as fabric. A man can mother his own mother. A little girl on the mountain, mothers the summit. The lichen shepherds a salamander across the trail. A woman can mother herself, tenderly, by making the coffee strong enough, placing the tulips in a butter-circle of sun on the windowsill.
I know your wound is salt-rimed and stings. I know you ache for lullabies, a memory of haven, sound and natural as a swallow’s nest. But here, let me give you a world-large gift. A gift you also give me.
Everybody is a mother. Everybody can turn to the other and offer a song, a wink, a fierce embrace.
Mik