Cacophony

Life—the thrust of living—seems raw and irrepressible on a day like that. Every niche, no matter how small, is fully occupied, no-vacancy signs visible everywhere. At dawn I walk through one spider trap after another, trailing silk by the time I get to the barn. Any object I move, I discover a colony of creatures behind it or under it or inside it. This is a farm of overlapping settlements and empires, and I plod through like Godzilla, undoing the work of the ant and earwig nations just by moving a five gallon bucket or a fence rail. (209) More Scenes from the Rural Life by Verlyn Klinkenborg

I try to garden for a short time each morning before the heat of summer builds. Gardening is a meditative act for me; it gives me the mental space to think. I step out of the house into the silence of our new property, no earbuds, no discussion. I am alone, lost in thought with an agenda at hand that usually includes watering and weeding.

However, now that the neighbors have spotted not one but two black bears in the neighborhood, I find my senses heightened lest I run into the trespassers. My increased awareness has brought to my attention that I really don't step into solitude and quiet when I step out into the green. Rather, from the time the first bird announces dawn's arrival to the cacophony of insects that fill the darkness at day's end like the chorus in a Wagnerian opera, nature is engaged in a drama of living and dying all around me.

I need only engage my senses to begin to see it. My recent observations include:

• The bumblebee hid under the leaves of the zinnias to stay dry from the watering can's heavy downpour.
• The sounds of woodpeckers hard at work echoed through the woods.
• Butterflies of all shapes, sizes and colors were feasting on the unidentified flowering tree beside the house. (Note to self: figure out what kind of tree blooms in the heat of July!)
• The crows were gathering and cawing to ward off the small hawk that landed near the circle drive.
• I am delighted to still recognize the song of the cardinal, the call of the blue jay. 
• The toad found relief from the heat under the trim by the garage, blending in perfectly with the red Virginia brick.
• The yellow jackets swarmed around a large nest in the ground next near the forsythias behind the house, threatening the lawn guys and prompting a call to pest control.
• The salamanders with black body and indigo-violet tales sit in wait for crickets and beetles and roaches, baking in the sun on the brick walk.
• The red ants organized an offensive at the very thought of an attack; unfortunately, they settled at the foot of the front entrance.
• The gang of deer ravage the neighborhood, particularly the pack of six bucks that devour my hydrangeas without a second glance. Once the rut begins, they'll be in competition but now they bow to peer pressure under the gaze of the buck with the rack that is inordinately large for July.
• Twin fawns emerge from the wood's edge, seemingly abandoned as mother has yet to be spotted.
• The housing market remains hot for wasps, causing a building boom; the hornets simply focus on an addition to their dwelling to accommodate newcomers to the nest.
• The hummingbirds remind me to focus on adding (deer-resistant) flowers to the beds next year.
• The bugs continue to amaze me in size and variety, including dragonflies with black and white striped wings and beetles of emerald green. However, the spiders are a topic I would rather not discuss. 
• The petitions of the praying mantis rose up from the flower pot on the back deck.

Amazing what one small plot of land yields. Peace and joy remain amidst the cacophony. 

History

I double majored in German and history -- not German history, although I did take European history courses. I then went on to earn a masters in education as well as my secondary school teaching certification in social studies and German. Education was a logical extension for a liberal arts education, but I have always struggled to explain how I landed on history as a major. After all, I did apply to college thinking I would major in chemistry and become a physician. And, I certainly am not a history buff like my brother, who I remember plowing through thick tomes on wars and leaders and eras long gone just for fun even as an adolescent.

In some way, I often think that children of immigrants tend to have a penchant for history. Our parents speak of times and places and movements long gone that shape the way they approach their new home and parent us. I heard about WWII and Germany and fascism that cultivated a deep gratitude for what American offered in the second half of the 20th century. Working hard was expected, although questions about the past were often ignored. We waited for bits and pieces of information to fall into our laps while eavesdropping on adult conversations to explain tears and tirades and religious fervor and convoluted decision making.

Lately, I have been immersing myself in history once again. In the current political climate, I have found that looking back has helped me make sense of the present. Please don't think that I always find comfort in some worrisome conclusions that history can uncover, but I find that understanding often is the first step to positive action and nothing could be more useful in these times. Let me share three journeys into history you might find enlightening and enjoyable as well:

1) My husband and I have been watching the National Geographic series Genius about Albert Einstein. The series places Einstein in historical, political, and cultural context such that you not only learn about the man but also how he was shaped by the times which do have some parallels to today.

2) I have been listening to the podcast Revisionist History by Malcolm Gladwell. Each episode looks back at a person or idea or event: "Something overlooked. Something misunderstood." As I am cooking dinner, I turn on the podcast. It gets me thinking, deeply, such that I return to its content in my mind repeatedly in the days that follow, making connections to my own experiences, understanding of current events, and passionate pursuits.

3) I am reading On Tyranny by Timothy Snyder. A straightforward, short book of 20 chapters, it looks at current political times through the lens of our Founding Fathers and European totalitarianism of the last century. Please do not take this to be a book of one political persuasion or another. Rather, this is a book about the basis for democracy and freedom and our responsibility as citizens to protect the foundation and integrity of our nation.

What I love most about immersing myself in history like this is the connections I am making. These mediums are lighting the light bulbs in my brain, helping me through the dis-ease I am feeling since the last election, and directing my thinking and decisions for the future as a voter, community member, and citizen. Of course, historians know that this is the greatest value of their academic pursuits: the past may illuminate the present and direct the future for one individual or an entire nation. Personally, I invite you to join me in the pursuit. As such, we might have greater confidence in where we collectively take our country.

History

Andrew Gent

Every poem has been written before

at least fifteen times.

Every song

sung better.

The Neanderthals discovered caves

already painted with the story of their lives.

They invented fire

over and over again.

And you & I

whisper the same sweet nothings

we were born with.

Mettle

Discrepancies, Happy and Sad

Li-Young Lee

We’ve moved into a bigger house.
Now our voices wander among the rooms
calling, Where are you?

And what we can’t forget
of other houses confuses us
as we answer back and forth, Over here!

It’s a little like returning to the village
where you were born, the sad bewilderment
of discrepancies between
what you remember and what’s there.

No. It’s more like a memory of heaven.
Voices coming closer, voices moving away,

and what we thought we knew
about life on earth confounding us.

And then that question
from which all the other questions begin.

I attended a garden tour on Saturday with a friend. The owners created a beautiful home and garden over 36 years. 36 years! I know plenty of people live in one place for their entire lives, but 36 years seems incredibly long to me. I began to think through all the homes I have lived in over the years, and I have lived in more homes than most millennials have jobs these days. Like each vein on the leaf of the perennial Evans Begonia above photographed on the garden tour, each address marked a significant place and time in my life that has helped shape me into who I am today. 

Upon review, this list evokes not only a feeling of exhaustion but also of pride. One gains invaluable insight into human beings and human behavior when moving similar to that of travel. I see more commonalities and fundamentals among people. And, I see myself as more adaptable to change and confident in the face of challenges. Building new relationships takes great effort but our closest friendships move with us over time and space, too. Choosing a new home, choosing change, tests your mettle. 

Read on and you'll see what I mean:

1) Milwaukee Duplex of My Birth with Leopard Lamp and Seamstress Bust in the Attic

2) Childhood home: Brookfield, WI Ranch for the Entirety of My Schooling From Age 5 to 18

3) McCaffrey House Dorm Room in Sullivan Hall on the Lakeshore at UW-Madison Freshman Year

4) Another McCaffrey House Dorm Room at UW-Madison Sophomore Year

5) Studentensiedlung Dorm Room at Albert Ludwigs Universitaet in Freiburg, Germany for My Junior Year Abroad

6) First Floor of Mill Street Duplex with the "Stomper" Upstairs for Senior Year Back at UW-Madison

7) Cronkite Graduate Center Single Dorm Room Off of Brattle Row in Cambridge, MA for as I Worked to Earn my MEd at Harvard

8) Apartment in Pastel Colored Stucco Complex in Hollywood Florida for First Teaching Position

9) First Floor "Fourplex" in Wauwatosa, WI in Transition Year Before Return to Graduate School

10) Four Month Stint in the Basement of My Older Sister's House After My Roommate Moved Out to Get Married

11) Studio Apartment Back in Madison for More Graduate School

12) Second Floor of Duplex on Madison's Near West Side Owned by Friend's Family Whose Grandfather Was a Longtime Professor

13) Moved in With My Then Fiance/Soon Husband into a Mississippi River Boulevard Apartment with Art Deco Bathroom in St. Paul, MN

14) Second Floor Duplex on St. Clair Avenue Owned and Meticulously Maintained by Our 90 Year Old Landlord, Ciel Garry, Who Lived in the Basement

15) 1,100 Square Foot 1929 Bungalow on Stanford Avenue, Our First Home

16) Return to Harvard and Completely Renovated (Once Owned By a Woman Who Had 200 Cats) Second Floor Duplex on Sycamore Street in Watertown, MA

17) First Floor Duplex on Hillcrest Circle in Watertown, MA

18) My Husband's First Faculty Job and Our Second Home on Nimitz Avenue in State College, PA

19) Third Home on Upland Road in Ithaca, NY as We Moved onto Cornell

20) Fourth Home Called "NOLD" on Highland Road in Ithaca, NY

21) Wayside Place Rental Home in Transition to Charlottesville, VA

22) Fifth Home, Our Current Brick Colonial Called "Nara"

I want to say this is our "forever" house, but who can predict the future? Upon review, the majority of my moves were dictated by academia and the partnership my husband and I formed. From the beginning, he and I shared a vision for the future and a life plan which remains steadfast. However, I think some of the terms are evolving as the time to enjoy life a bit more in the present may be at hand and the desire to stay connected to our girls as they themselves move on in life will be a priority as well. For now, we are settling in and growing new roots with mettle.

Gardening

And that was—is—the miraculous power of gardening: it invites plans and ambitions, creativity, expectation. Next year I will try celeriac. And that new pale blue sweet pea. Would Iris stylosa to just here? And what about sweet woodruff in that shady corner? Gardening defies time; you labor today in the interests of tomorrow; you think in seasons to come, cutting down the border this autumn but with next spring in your mind’s eye.  (33) Dancing Fish and Ammonites by Penelope Lively

After two years of transition, my family and I are finally settled in Charlottesville, a brick colonial so appropriate for Jefferson's hometown and its love affair with red bricks. No surprise as the soil is very fertile and tinted red as well. We live less than 3 miles to the university, shopping, and the high school and sit on a nearly 5 acre nook with woods and creek. Although it took some time to find this gem, I am so grateful for our good fortune and patience.

July is bringing me time to breath in the quiet, to think about the future, and to garden. I spend an hour here and there gardening each day now. I begin a bit late this growing season as the summer heat is already in full force, yet my efforts will bear fruition as I get to know the property, begin to construct a plan for the future, and plant selectively. I forgot that few things brings me as much joy as working the soil.

Gardening immerses you in nature no matter how big or small your efforts. And, nature abounds at "Nara," the name we have given our new home. Deer roam the area here in small herds and hearken back to Nara Park in Japan and its deer, a national treasure considered messengers of the gods in Shinto. I love to think the same of our deer, approaching them with reverence rather than as an adversary as I am prone to do.

Toads, turtles, squirrels, woodpeckers, raccoons, and numerous songbirds frequent our neighborhood. Last week, a black bear's visit caused quite a commotion and places me on high alert when I am out gardening. The visitor took down a neighbor's bird seed feeder and enjoyed a late night snack. I was emboldened to not feed the wildlife around me anymore -- no feeder for us at Nara -- rather to plant in ways that provides habitat and supports all the living things around me.

I have begun weeding and trimming. I planted a small bed of French marigold seeds I saved from Ithaca right next to another small bed of lavender. I love the intense color of purple when lavender is grouped together. And, their smell brings me back to one of my earliest memories, my only memory of my mother's mother. I must have been around three years old, and we shopped together at a neighborhood, corner store in Milwaukee's long gone German community. I chose a small, green, rounded bottom glass bottle of perfume with a green, round plastic top. I remember carrying this rare and precious gift with great care. The scent must have been heavily lavender as I always return to the long lost bottle in my mind to this day when I breathe in lavender.

My new neighbor shared that the deer overlook the pumpkins and cucumbers in her garden. So, I planted a few pumpkin pie seeds in the midst of the milkweed seeds I had scattered in hopes that one day I might be able to attract and feed some monarch butterflies. Nothing surprised me more than to see the pumpkin seedlings emerge from the soil in less than a week. I am not sure why, but the life source of a seed still amazes me.

I remember planting seeds (likely pumpkins or beans or peas) in a paper cup in Kindergarten. I was attentive and nurturing and engaged even then. Maybe, my love of gardening returns me to the joys of childhood. I witnessed such joy the other evening at my daughter's swim meet when a small girl walked round and round in astonishment. "Look! It's a firefly!" Pause. "Look! It's a firefly!" Her voice was sweet and soft and breathy. She was beholding with great wonder. May we all do the same.