Hands-on help

Although this time of year is extremely busy for us, as we harvest and preserve our garden bounty, I've found enough little dabs of time to spin up some yarn and begin a scarf. I'm still captivated by the process.

But I need to find a human instructor; the Internet is a great source of information and guidance, but when it comes to the fine points of drafting fleece, for example, I need hands-on help. Though I can create passable yarn, I still manage to turn the fleece slowly back on itself as I spin, and I don't understand what I'm doing wrong.

I also learned a lot about the different breeds of sheep by reading articles on the Internet ... but visiting a local spinner/knitter/dyer who uses the fleece from her own sheep made a huge difference in my understanding of the process. Running my fingers through a chocolate brown tangled coat provided more information (way more) about what it takes to transform that warm mess into spinnable fiber than I could ever get from the many helpful Internet sites available.

I've learned several important things on "the farm" up here: Doing something yourself isn't just educational—it's exciting, awe-inspiring and life-changing. Finding your morning egg still warm and snuggled in a freshly made nest, for example, is an experience so far removed from picking up a dozen factory-produced eggs in a plastic box that it seems to come from an entirely different world. It certainly comes from an entirely different worldview. Homemade sauerkraut seems almost to be made from an entirely different vegetable than the store-bought variety. (It's simple to do and delicious to eat—try it!) For that matter, any food taken directly from the Earth and eaten within hours will open and entirely different—and fabulous—world of taste.

Here's another one of my little "ah-ha" discoveries: the human appears to be well designed to give and receive help. Not only do other folks know more than I do about a lot of things, there's something deeper going on when people get together and help each other out. Reading is fabulous, and I would never even suggest giving that up as a resource as well as recreation. The Internet is another excellent source of information. But you just can't beat sitting down with an old friend (or a new one) and learning the fine points of spinning—or farming, or teaching, or anything at all—with them.

And one's own store of learning and experience is a gift meant to be shared. Each of us has something she knows a little more about than someone else does. And when that someone else wants to learn, it feels really terrific to be able to pass along the little wisdoms we've acquired. In the midst of this human weaving of knowledge and learning, wonderful things happen. Friends are made, new ideas appear, fresh discoveries are made.

And that's when the real magic begins.

A push for more

This year I'm really (really) noticing how our world is changing. I fear much of the change is the result of human influence, and probably doesn't bode well for some of Earth's species—us, for example.

There's no doubt we are heading into a time of weather extremes, with massive hurricanes, monster tornados, melting glaciers, rising salt water levels, diminishing fresh water reserves, heat waves and cold snaps. The Earth also has her own weather pendulum, and whether or not we can survive at the far reaches of its movements, it may be swinging toward an ice age.

Interesting. It is said that the human ability for symbolic thought and speech developed into language around campfires inside ice caves. I wonder what we might come up with if we survive during the wild weather that may be ahead for us.

I've read that poison ivy will begin to grow larger and more potent in the years ahead. There's a pleasant thought. Here on the farm we're well acquainted with this plant's current power, and I admit I'm not inclined to think too hard about our prospects with this green neighbor.

As always, there are glorious bright spots as well. This spring we had one of the most prolific displays of flowering plants I've ever seen. The lilacs bent their branches and filled the air with their intense perfume. (Lilacs produce one of my particular "memory smells"; I played under lilac bushes as a child, and one wee sniff sends me right back to 1950's northern Indiana.)

Right now we are enjoying monarch and swallowtail butterfly displays, and it seems to me they are particularly large this year. I watched a yellow swallowtail on the anise hyssop yesterday, and it looked to be about 6" across. Have they always been this big, or am I just beginning to take note?

Carpenter bees, deer, robins, turkey vultures, click beetles, even the duck eggs ... so much seems either larger, more prolific, or both this year. I hope this isn't a last Cenozoicc gasp, though it could be.

Or maybe it's Mother Earth doing what she knows how to do: being beautiful, providing something wonderful to enjoy, giving her human offspring as much leeway as possible (though even loving parents have limits), simply delighting in the vast power of creation that blesses her existence.

"We" — a little, powerful word

The Episcopal Church (yep, that's "mine") did an amazing thing this year. It was time to elect a Presiding Bishop—not exactly a Pope equivalent, but the closest we can come. Oh-my-gosh, we elected ... a woman.

We have already been the object of intense media attention, as we elected a good man to be the bishop of New Hampshire; a good and honest man who happens to love another man. I can't believe Jesus cared about this one whit, or we'd have heard about it big time in the scriptures. We all know same-sex relationships have been around for ages, and are not limited to the human species, so if God or any of God's human manifestations had wanted to squash the idea, we'd know about it.

Then there's the fact that we decided to ordain women about a quarter of a century ago, and some furor over that step continues today. Though most parishes and dioceses at the very least can "stomach" the female priest business, more than you'd expect cry just-hold-on-one-minute when it comes to bishops. And God knows, a female primate is just out of the question, isn't it?

Nope.

The election of Katharine Jefferts-Schori as our next Presiding Bishop is causing comments from many quarters, some good and some less felicitous. I happen to know her, and she is a wise, humble, intelligent human being. I don't care if her plumbing is indoor or out; I think, if anyone can, she will be able to move the Anglican Communion toward reconciliation.

And here's why. Shortly after her election she was asked about her ability to handle male-female conflict, especially when she happened to hold the upper hand. As usual, she paused to think before answering (gee, I wish we all could do that). She then related her experience as the in-charge person on an oceanographic cruise, where the ship's captain wouldn't speak with her, just because she was female. This is what Katharine said to the audience: "That lasted about fifteen minutes. We got over it."

Not he got over it, but we did. When we are in conflict with one another, the difficult dynamic involves us all. It's never that "you" have the problem, it's that we do. It takes a bit of give and take on both sides to move past the difficulty.

Maybe it's time we all got over it—together.