Under a Red Moon

     As the only member of my immediate household looking up at the sky after 10:15 last night, I had the opportunity to let my mind wander as I watched the last sliver of the sun's direct light fade from the face of the moon.  As that little crescent of light waned on the five o'clock corner of the moon's face, I noticed movement across the street.  My neighbors were coming out to watch the spectacle.  After a few pleasantries, we got down to deeper conversational topics.
     One of the first things I brought up was the thought of humans more than 500 years ago seeing the same spectacle, but having no explanation for what they saw -- not knowing if the moon was burning out or what was happening.  I imagined a long-ago shaman, seeing the image of a red moon in his or her mind ahead of time, and seeing a bonfire celebration underway as the light started to return.  So when the red moon actually appeared in the sky, the shaman orders the village people to construct a huge bonfire.  By the time it's lit and burning strongly, with all the people huddled around, looking fearfully at the moon, the eclipse starts tapering and the villagers shout and dance with joy, fulfilling the shaman's vision.  But at the very least, our ancestors must have freaked out to some degree.  It was disconcerting to me to see a red moon last night, and I was fully expecting it with complete scientific understanding of what was happening.

     Okay, not complete understanding.  I don't have an explanation for why the sun slipped off the moon to the lower right (5:00 area) and came back on the moon around at the slightly lower left (8:00 area).  Why not directly across at the top left (11:00)?  I imagine it has to do with either my perspective on looking at the moon from the 44th parallel, or perhaps with the spin of Earth over the course of the eclipse -- the moon definitely changed position in the sky over the time it was red.

     I started another conversational tangent with the question, "Do you think werewolves get apathetic during lunar eclipses?  Like they stay furry, but they just can't bring themselves to chase and eat you."  This, of course, led to a host of theories and peals of laughter over the proceeding five minutes.

     But my neighbors headed back in leaving me alone with my thoughts again.  So why are some of us so motivated to go out and see these lights in the sky as they flow through their cycles, and so especially motivated to watch when there are aberrations from the norm?  What motivates one person to stay up late just to watch the moon, while another will only glance up before going to get a good night's sleep?  Are these simply the decisions and moments that make us who we are?

Growing a Gardener

As a young child, I clearly remember my dad's love of tomato sandwiches, fresh off the vines in the back yard.  At one of our houses, the tomato cages were right outside my window, offering me the tantalizing and distinct smell of tomato vines wafting on the breeze into my room on late summer nights as I was drifting off to sleep.  And though I can remember picking the tomatoes and eating the tomatoes, I can't ever remember helping with planting or tending...

Current view from Oma & Opa's  (Their garden was to the right of the shed in the center of the picture.)

Also as a child, we would spend our summers at my grandparents house up on Bluff Mountain in northwestern North Carolina.  Looking out from their front porch (if you could pull your eyes away from the view that allowed you to see peaks in at least two states), you could see the half acre garden down the hill, next to the cherry tree.  Again, I can remember harvesting beans, corn, squash, potatoes, etc., but I can't ever remember weeding, planting, or any of the other 'unfun' stuff that leads to the harvest...  (I do remember the hard and fast rule, though:  you can take anything you want home with you, but you have to take an equal amount of squash.)

As a young adult, I worked at Farm & Wilderness Summer Camps in Vermont.  And while 'Farm' is the first word in the name, I worked on the waterfront, teaching boys to swim and paddle; I led hiking and canoeing trips throughout New England; I helped cook meals, build cabins, clear brush, build bonfires; and, again, I helped harvest for Food Day at the end of the summer when we would, to whatever extent was possible, only consume foods produced in the camps.  But I have very few memories of working on the farm actually tending the crops.

In college, even, I lived in a college-owned house called Farm House, but there was no farm during those years.  Somehow, I made it through the first three decades of life surrounded by farms, gardens, and individuals passionate about growing food without growing any myself.  It wasn't that I was avoiding it, mind you -- it just never occurred to me to take on this hobby or make it a habit.

Lighting set up, with worm bin and fan

That is until I moved to Ann Arbor and lived for several years with a Master Organic Gardener.  I shared responsibility for tending a Project Grow garden plot, first near Clague Middle School, then for two years in County Farm Park.  I learned how to start seeds indoors in February so they'd be ready to transplant outside in May, and why it's important to use a fan to strengthen the stems so they'll be hardy enough to weather the weather.  Instead of going into the garbage, we put food scraps in a worm bin, then two worm bins, to later use the compost as food for our vegetables.  And I was gradually turned into a gardener.

Year two of gardening at home...

Following the purchase of my house, I finally took control of my own garden: at first a four foot by six foot space clearly used for that purpose by some former resident of the house, but gradually taking up more and more of my back yard.  Gradually over the years, the original garden was increased to 5' x 12', another one foot by 15' section was added along a fence, a small 4' by 4' plot allowed for more planting, and two other small plots were converted from lawn to garden.  But this is Michigan, and the clay just a few inches down doesn't really do it for plants.  So this spring I took on the task of building raised beds.  Now all of the space I just mentioned has been augmented by two beds rising 12 inches above the grass (one 4' by 10' and another 4' by 5') and one bed half that tall measuring 5' by 5'.

...and the same view, two years later

This year's garden addition, complete with rich soil and fine mulch.

To cap it all off, I found a summer job through Growing Hope, an organization supporting community gardens and gardeners.  Now I water before I leave home; spend my day working in gardens and teaching others about local food, nutrition, and gardening; then go home to weed and tend to my own garden.

As I look back, I still can't understand how I made it so far in life without actually digging my hands into the earth.  But, as with so many aspects of my life, I don't think I ever really had a choice.  It was simply a matter of time before I succumbed to the currents swirling around me and allowed myself to be taken by the joy and satisfaction that comes from helping a tiny seed develop into dinner for me and my family.

Timing is everything. There is no time.

There are those moments in life when you turn left, not because you have been planning to, but because the pull of events are guiding and leading you to the place you need to be.

Last Sunday, we noticed our indoor/outdoor cat wasn't around.  It was supposed to be a cold-ish night, not beyond anything I knew she hadn't survived already, but there was still some worry.  By Tuesday afternoon, with still no sign of her, we completed all the tasks we knew to do:  posting on the Humane Society website, going to see all the cats who had been found recently, calling her name endlessly...

By Thursday, we were beginning to resign ourselves to the possibilities.  She'd been taken in by another family and was waiting for her chance to escape and return to us.  She'd been taken in by another family and we'd never see her again.  Or she'd been involved in some nefarious end (be that weather, a car, a larger, meaner animal, etc.).

During this week, I'd been reading The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, which talks a lot about allowing yourself to be guided by omens and following your own Personal Treasure.  So when my teenage step-daughter started talking about ideas that resonated with that concept, I was in a space to listen and offer some agreements.  (Let's not get bogged down now in the family debates about responsibility and privileges that preceded her declaration that she was going to follow her heart and not worry about the details.)  It was with the teenage need for freedom from parental figures that she went out for a long walk and phone conversation with one of her friends.  And it was that long walk that took her voice along a particular stretch of road.  And it was her voice (I believe) that prompted our cat to start her pitiful crying.  And it was that distinctive crying that stopped my step-daughter and allowed her to find Bo, our kitty.

So the girl who had been talking early in the evening about following her heart to find happiness in life brought happiness into our home just a few hours later.  So I ask, is there coincidence in this world?  Or is that just another name for somehow listening to the currents of life and allowing them to guide us to the right place at the right time?