Monday, March 17, 2014

Eight true confessions of a garden dreamer

Confession #1: I just spent $80 on zinnia seeds. But with names like Raspberry Lemonade, Queen Red Lime, White Wedding, and Zaraha Double Fire, how could I resist? :) Ok, so it wasn't the names that got me. It was the color and size varieties. I've decided to focus almost exclusively on zinnias this year as my annuals, which means no big box store or nursery petunias, lobelia, or other potted flowering annual standards for the back yard and most of my pots. That's my gardener logic - I'm spending more on seeds because I'll spend less on potted annuals later.

Oh, who am I kidding.

Hello, my name is Amanda and I'm addicted to my garden.

Confession #2: I'm creating a new garden bed this year just for squash and melons. Last year, the acorn and spaghetti squash took over my main 10' x 14' planting bed, along with the heirloom purple pole beans and sweet potatoes. If you walked by that bed in late July, you would not have known that there were pepper and tomato plants lurking in there. I must have done something right with the soil because everything did really well in that small space, crowding problems aside. But this year, I am DETERMINED to do better. I suspect all gardeners share this sickness.

Confession #3: I miss Paul James, The Gardener Guy. I love to cook, so I enjoy watching cooking shows for relaxation and education. I also read Food & Wine magazine and cookbooks, but sometimes, I just want to kick back with a lemonade and watch some cooking shows and dream. Same thing with gardening. I love to garden. Having my first home means having space for gardens - flowers, perennials, vegetables, fruit, shrubs, and trees. I read gardening books, web sites, and blogs. What I don't have is a good gardening show. Victory Garden on PBS is ok, but it's not on all the time and isn't the kind of hands-on show I'm looking for. I wish #HGTV would either resuscitate The Gardener Guy, or create a new show of the same style and energy as all of those hands-on cooking shows. Honestly, I couldn't care less about yard crashing - that's not useful to me! Nor is it entertaining because who the hell has a crew of 30 people, three days, and a limitless budget to do the overboard shit they do on those shows?! I mean, really. Give me someone who is mildly peppy, knowledgable, and capable of sharing information that helps me to learn something while being entertained. Is that REALLY asking too much #HGTV? Really?? :/

Confession #4: While purchasing my exorbitant amount of zinnia seeds, I also bought a packet of Chianti Hybrid Sunflower seeds that I will attempt to start when I return from this last academic conference of the season. And yes, it is a dark red wine-colored sunflower.

I may weep if the rabbits get these sunflowers.

Confession #5: I seem to be incapable of restraint when it comes to my garden. Whereas in other areas of my life, I am quite capable of showing an abundance of restraint, with my garden, I just want more. I haven't overloaded any of my beds...yet. But I suspect that my spacing is probably too close. But I do adore walking through my ever-changing garden and yard beginning right now and going all the way through the end of autumn - just watching and noticing every little change in the plants and weeds and soil. How the blanket flower pushes through the taller zinnias, how the pinwheel zinnias look like they are bursting out of the rock wall, how the scents shift and change day to day, how the abundance of colors and foliage and textures are so comforting and welcoming.

Hello, my name is Amanda and I have a plant spacing problem.

Confession #6: I don't use any pesticides in my gardens, but will not hesitate to kill any mammals that aim to eat my flowers and decimate my food plants.

What can I say? I am a zinnia mystery wrapped in a cypress vine enigma standing in a black raspberry paradox.

Confession #7: My garden spaces, the physical work, the planning, and the money spent are more consistently pleasurable to me than much of my paying job. I would not want to garden for a living because anytime you take something this pleasurable and turn it into a professional career, it kills the joyful spirit that drew you there in the first place. That's what happened to me with creative writing - I can no longer write fiction because I spent ten years earning my living as a professional writer. The ability to make stories up out of thin air dissipated like so many farts in the wind as each assignment ticked by over that decade and now, well, now I love my creative nonfiction, but my stories must be true to be both written and enjoyed (by me). It's the biggest reason why I haven't pushed my professional photography services too hard - I'm good enough to make a living as a photog, but I don't want to because I want to retain that creative curiousity and joy.

So, gardening. I'm just fine with gardening in my free time, in the evenings, on the rare weekend that I'm home. Gardening is pure joy. Because every night that I come home from work, beginning next week, before unlocking my front door, I will wander down the fenceline, into the backyard, and walk all the way around the entire space, pausing to observe, listen, feel leaves, pull a weed, enjoy the manipulated natural space that I am carving out for my own pleasure and when I enter the house, I will feel refreshed, relaxed, and re-invigorated with a sense of hope and peace.

Confession #8: I wish I had more land so that I could have a bigger garden. Knowing that this wish comes with a ton of extra work, I still wish I had more land. My man and I sometimes dream together about the perfect place for us - view of mountains, on a body of water, five acres with a large enough sunny space for an extra large and vigorous garden and plenty of room for flowering annuals, bulbs, perennials, shrubs, a large berry patch, perhaps a small orchard. Don't ask me when I will have the time to tend to all of this space and all of these plants...a woman can dream.

Hello, my name is Amanda and I dream about my future gardens.



Thursday, March 6, 2014

The price of intervention

Recently, I saw a comment on a Facebook thread that set my teeth on edge. You've probably seen comments that do this to you as well. The commenter is being lighthearted and the content of the photo or link has nothing to do with the comment - it is just an add-on - a tangent. And yet, it is so potent and offensive in its casualness. Let me explain.

Here is the portion of the comment that caught my attention:

"...I want to run like the wind with a Pocahontas costume..."

For those of you who know me and know that my academic focus is Indigenous Rhetorics, you know that this kind of fun, easy, seemingly innocuous comment is anything but fun and innocuous. Easy? Yes, because of the ubiquity of misinformation about real Indigenous peoples and because of the ubiquity of misappropriation and misrepresentation about real Indigenous peoples, past and present. Fortunately, my friend whose photo this thread was on is understanding and reacted exceedingly well to my intervention comment. 

To intervene or not? That is, perpetually, the question. Vine Deloria, Jr. wrote in Custer Died for Your Sins that "we need a cultural leave-us-alone agreement." He meant American Indians need us white people to leave them alone - stop writing about, studying, trying to help - just stop intervening. All respect to Deloria and his motivation for making this statement, but I disagree to a certain extent. 

The price we pay for NOT intervening and NOT trying to help change the narrative about real Indigenous peoples and cultures is the continuation and predominance of misinformation, stereotypes, and misappropriation of Indigenous peoples, their cultures, practices, sacred items, languages, names, everything. If you doubt what I say, consider this brief list of products and organizations:

Cherikee Red soda, Washington Redskins, Calumet Baking Soda (logo), Land 'o Lakes Butter (logo), Cleveland Indians, Atlanta Braves (and their fans' charming "tomahawk chop"), Disney's Pocahontas, Princess Pocahottie (Halloween Costume), "What Makes the Redman Red?" (Disney song), Lone Ranger and Tonto (TV show and newer film), Firewater Whiskey, Jeep Cherokee, Ford Thunderbird, Winnebago (this is the "Chieftain" model), Crazy Horse Malt Liquor, Sue Bee Honey, Urban Outfitters' "Navajo Panties" et al, hipster headdresses. . . .I could go on.

Argument: All of these representations are racist.
Counterargument: "But we're honoring Natives!"

Here, read this. She says it better than I could. And has all of the persuasive visuals to back up her argument embedded in the post. 

As an outsider to this issue, all I can do is feel sympathy and offer action in my own small way. So I post stories to Facebook, I teach college students, and I intervene online when I see a seemingly innocuous comment that I know was not intended to be offensive. Most people just don't know. And while I do have a great deal of sympathy for this unwitting lack of knowledge, I also understand that 'not knowing' is just shy of being a lame excuse. However, as I am committed to changing the narrative, I do my best not to be too aggressive in my approach. But the hesitance that I still feel, even after years of studying this issue, writing about it, and educating people. . .that hesitance is what bothers me.

I paused when I saw that FB thread comment. Stared at it. Read it over and over, in fact, debating whether to say something or not. I knew the stakes. My friend and her friend may not take too kindly to being told, even in the kindest terms, that Disney's Pocahontas is a complete misrepresentation that sets the stage for believing Native peoples to be fantasy relics of the past - invisible to our current lives. The stakes for me are fairly straightforward whenever I make public activist statements that advocate strongly for a position or a group - I may lose friends, I may make enemies, I may be thought of in ill-terms, or at least thought of with accompanying eye rolls. Interestingly, all of these thoughts did cross my mind, but then another thought dominated and it is the one that caused me to act. 

I can handle losing friends, making enemies, and being thought of with eye-rolls. What I choose not to handle with silence (which, to me, implies acceptance) is the persistent expectation that Indigenous peoples do not currently exist and do not have feelings if they do. I consider myself fortunate to have many colleagues who hail from such diverse nations as Miami, Citizen Potawatomie, Eastern Band of Cherokee, Osage, and more. When I see such lighthearted comments, I think of my colleagues and students and the harm these types of comments are doing to them. And I just can't sit quietly by for the sake of peace in the family and friend circle. 

I've never been one to leave anything alone, least of all a blatant injustice. I encourage you to consider intervening the next time you see any kind of lighthearted comment made about a group of people that you care about. The personal price is miniscule and worth paying if the result is just one more person who gets it. 

Change may be slow, but as individuals, we must be willing to pay a small personal price in order to make progress. We will enjoy a more open, tolerant, and knowledgeable society, and that is the result of intervention.