The news is getting me down. Nearly three hundred Nigerian schoolgirls kidnapped by Boku Haram. The capsized South Korean ferry and more than 300 drowned students. Kids taking guns to school and the governor of Georgia signing a law that says anyone can carry a gun almost anywhere in the state. The ever-continuing feminization of poverty. A couple Saturdays ago, I heard an enormous noise of cawing and shrieking and wings flapping outside my window. It went on for several minutes, so I finally set my book aside (I was trying to ignore Eyewitless News), got up, and looked out into the courtyard. Two huge, noisy crows were chasing a smaller bird. I think it might have been a scrub jay. I have no idea what the jay’s crime had been in the crows’ eyes, but they were chasing it back and forth, up and down, and one of them finally speared it with its beak. The jay fell. The crows landed on the roof of the building across the courtyard and strutted back and forth for several minutes. One of them went down for a closer look at the fallen jay. Then they flew away.
I’ve seen crows attacking other birds before. They’re extremely intelligent birds, but they also get aggressive. Some years ago, I sat at a desk in an office, gazing out the window, and saw a crow destroy a hummingbird’s nest and eat the babies. Sad, yes, but this is how crows around the world find food. My coworkers wanted to storm outside immediately and (I guess) shoot the crow and maybe tear the little tree out of the ground. “No,” I said. “Leave it alone. Tennyson was right when he wrote that nature is bloody.” Continue reading “A Tiny Life by Barbara Ardinger”
Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess—NO, stop right there. Tales like this do not require princesses. Let’s try again. Once upon a time there was a sturdy young woman who lived in a small town in Mitteleuropa not too far from the castle of the Holy Roman Emperor.
The girl’s name is Madchen. Her parents are a Farmer and a Cunning Woman. She is proud to say that just last fall she actually saw the Emperor, who is a stiff, elderly man who always wears a fussed-up military uniform and a pince nez and has enormous sidewhiskers. The Emperor did not, of course, notice the girl as he sat in his carriage and waved stiffly to his subjects. But what Madchen doesn’t know is that Crown Prince Rufus, whose uniform and sidewhiskers are considerably more modest than his father’s and who was riding on a great red stallion in the parade behind his father’s coach, noticed her immediately. That girl, he said to himself, is a girl I must have! Continue reading “A Beltane Story by Barbara Ardinger”
I am writing this on International Women’s Day. I know from living in three different countries what different faces this day can have. And I can see how these different perceptions are informed by each country’s history and political situation. This is a Buddhist principle of dependent co-arising: nothing exists in separation from anything else, all phenomena arise in dependence on everything else.
8 Marta – 8 March Russian card
For instance, the Soviet 8th March was a public holiday and culturally it was a day to celebrate femininity, and – separately but connected – awakening of nature in spring. In the US, International Women’s Day was next to non-existing when I lived there in mid-1990s, apart from for hardcore Communists and Socialists, who celebrated it as a milestone on the road to Socialist equality. In the UK nowadays, International Women’s Day takes on a shape of a women-only day, a statement of women’s independence and very often celebration of same-sex love between women.
My friend whom I teach frame drumming teaches us shamanic journeying. There was an episode in one of my journeys, when, unable to see the way forward, I put the palm of my hand on the ground and went down a hole I was creating to the core of the earth. Since then, this scene came into my mind several times when I was talking to friends about inner truth. Also, the posture itself bears uncanny resemblance to the iconic Buddha posture of touching earth with his right hand.
Touch the Earth Mudra
According to a Buddhist legend, on the night of Enlightenment Prince Siddhartha encountered Mara, the Lord of Death, who threw various hindrances the Buddha’s way to prevent him from attaining Supreme Enlightenment. The final challenge was Mara’s claim that the Buddha had no right to be in the seat of Enlightenment. The Buddha then touched the earth with his right hand to call Her as a witness of his past spiritual achievements and his right to gain Enlightenment.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockle shells, and pretty little maids all in a row.
From the beginning of horticulture about 8000 BCE or earlier to the present day, weeding has been women’s work. Women, who were the gatherers and preparers of food in traditional nomadic societies, no doubt were the first to discover that seeds dropped at a campsite one year sometimes sprung up as plants the next year. When this discovery was systematized, agriculture was invented, and human beings began to settle down in the first villages and towns.
In the early days of horticulture (the name for the earliest stage of agriculture before the plow was developed), the cycles of planting and harvest and all the stages in between were understood to have been given to mothers by the Great Mother, the Source of Life. The secrets of planting, seed collection, harvest, and food preparation and preservation were all perceived to be “mysteries” connected to the ongoing cycles of birth, death, and regeneration in the universe.
My grandmother Lena Marie Searing who was born on a farm in Michigan must have learned agricultural secrets from her mother, for she not only created a beautiful garden, she also farmed an orchard and preserved its fruits in glass jars that lined her pantry. It was she who taught me and my brothers and cousins to love nature. My mother learned to garden from her mother, but she did not harvest food crops. I think of both of them whenever I work in my garden.
The past few days I have been weeding my garden after heavy rains that left the soil clumpy and moist. I have weeded before, but I have never enjoyed it so much. My garden has matured over the past seven years, and now the weeds are more “under control.” There aren’t so many of them, and as I have now been weeding them out over the years, their roots are shallow.
As I slide a trowel into the earth the weeds lift up and with my fingers I gently pull the plants with their roots from the soil. The weeds are familiar, though I don’t know all of their names. The “sticky weed” has many tough roots, the clover has many fine ones—both are hard to eradicate. Other weeds are easy to pull up and do not reappear again until the next year.
wild chamomile blooming among “weeds”
I am discovering that weeding is a delicate process. Sometimes the roots of plants I want in the garden are entangled with those of the weeds. I work carefully choosing the ones to save and the ones to discard.** I leave poppies, chamomile, yellow daisies, and marigolds where I find them, as I consider them to be wildflowers that will provide beauty in my garden when they bloom in spring. I also take care to “keep the soil in good heart” by not discarding too much of it along with the weeds.
As I weed, I think of the women in my village who harvest greens from the fields, feeling certain that some of the weeds I discard are edible. I marvel at all of the knowledge women have shared and passed down over the past 10,000 years and more, as I realize how little of it I know. My suspicion that some of my weeds could be food is validated when a friend and I order boiled “greens from the mountains” for lunch at a local taverna and are served one of the plants I had thrown into the garbage can.
As I weed, I am reminded of an essay called “Keeping the Soil in Good Heart: Women Weeders, the Environment, and Ecofeminism” by Candice Bradley which was published in Karen J. Warren’s Ecofeminism. Bradley writes that weeding is women’s work in almost all cultures. As I work, I understand that this is so because weeding is delicate work that requires concentration and patience and that must be repeated. Bradley says that in many cultures men disparage weeding as they disparage housework—not considering either to be “real” work.
Horticulture is the most environmentally friendly form of farming, according to Bradley, because it does the least harm to the soil, and because the weeds that are not eaten are burned or composted and turned back into the earth to replenish it.
While weeding by hand has been considered work for women and children, men have generally controlled the plow and its recent successor, the tractor. However, as Bradly states, the plow and the tractor do not eliminate the need for hand-weeding. In many cases they encourage the weeds to regenerate. Women and children still weed.
The chemical gardening and farming industry (“round it up”) is based on the premise that weeds can and must be eradicated. Rachel Carson warned us of the danger this approach to agriculture presents to human and all other forms of life. A by-product of chemical agriculture is that the careful work of women weeders is further discounted.
I do not use chemicals or pesticides in my garden, and I will be out there weeding on a regular basis in the next months. As I put my hands in the earth, I will think of all the women before me who have weeded and planted, weeded and harvested, and weeded again. Blessed be.
*The title of this essay is an homage to Elizabeth Wayland Barber’s Women’s Work: The First 20,000 Years which discusses and celebrates women and weaving.
**I am aware that no plant was born a “weed” and that the designation of some plants as weeds is a by-product of human digestive systems, human taste, agriculture, and the creation of gardens for the celebration of beauty.
Feminism and Religion 