Kathleen's Korner at TheStidhams.com

I sent this originally as an email to an online community I belong to, where the topic of what is happening in Korea has been mentioned.

I am strangely not uptight about the Korean bomb thing. I grew up with the knowledge that nuclear holocaust was possible, probably inevitable. Yet, life went on. It was the only way to survive. Just keep living.

If tomorrow I died, would my life today have been worth living? That is really all that matters to me. I could die of illness, injury or murder tomorrow, as easily as with a nuclear or other military attack. I grew up a military brat, the idea that war can break out, even come to the United States directly, is not news. The idea of fall-out frightens me, but since there is nothing we could do about it, I can’t manage to worry. I figure we’ll have to cross that bridge if it gets built.

What concerns me is the people who, even before 9/11 and the Korean escalation, live as if life _won’t_ continue. They eat things that are bad for them and for the planet, they wear things that are made by children and slaves, they drive things that consume vast quantities of resources in both manufacture and locomotion, and they treat other people as if they don’t matter.

This sort of living almost seals the lid on the coffin of “life as we know it” — certainly the world my children are inheriting is almost unrecognizable from my grandparents’ world! The news yesterday was that the rain we normally get in the autumn and winter will in the next 50 years increase so that flooding in my region, and diminished snowpack leading to water problems in the summers, will be the norm rather than the exception. And yes, it’s attributed to global warming. Link to the story here : komotv.com/stories/46051.htm

So when our family, in our own way, try to live responsibly, we are faced with an overwhelming obstacle. No matter how frugally we live (and we are still not as minimalist and earth-friendly as we could be), we have only to look at our immediate neighbors to know it’s not making a difference.

To save gasoline and wear and tear on the vehicles, I am in town only once a week. Occasionally twice. There are several Hummers in our area and large trucks, single-drivers in each and all nicely polished and detailed — not needed for actual employment in other words, making daily commutes of 30 miles or more to work.

We make a lot of our own food (though with two hungry kids I admit to laying in a good supply of frozen things they can reheat); and buy as much of our produce from local sources as we can, recycle or compost nearly everything and rarely fill even half a can of garbage a week. We even manage to grow some of our own stuff, though I am sure we expend way more resources on our meagre crop than makes financial sense. Still, the deer seem to appreciate our efforts. And the kids do enjoy the fresh fruit and veggies when they get to them first.

Long run, I guess I have actually given up hope of making a difference to the world as a whole. Not that I’ll let on to the kids. Perhaps they’ll find a way out of the mess my grandparents’ and parents’ generations — and now mine — have made.

Note, however, I have not given up hope. I’ll keep voting for the candidates and issues that make sense to me, contributing to causes I believe in as I can, and quietly trying to live a life that is a good example.

A lovely day today, bright sun, light breezes, a few clouds here and there. The grass is that lovely spring green that just seems to glow even in the shade. The chestnut leaves are popping out now, and the golden-yellow kerria flowers look so pretty against them.

Both lilacs are blooming now, though the deep reddish one is a little behind. I cut it back severely this winter, so we could see some structure, but of course that also took out easily half it’s bloom for this season. That’s okay– it looks lovely, and will have loads next year!

Here in the garden, it is peaceful and lovely. But I know that this small circle of calm is deceptive. So many things are going on in the world — difficult, terrible, sad things. Usually I let T blog about the bigger picture, but today I feel I want to chime in.

What place does a little garden and its keeper have when children are going hungry or being exploited? What purpose does this beauty and calm serve when far away only chaos and destruction can be seen? How does planting a flower seed help a child learn to read? How does rearranging benches and pots help a mother feed her children? How does carefully watering a tender plant heal the wounds left by countless generations of hate?

Is it possible that mindfully tending this small spot — admiring its resilience and adaptability, cherishing its personalities and moods, attuning to its needs and the lessons it teaches — provides something greater? Could it be that it is this sort of action which allows for HOPE to remain in the world?

Certainly it is a hopeful act, in and of itself. It is the hope of the new day, the changing seasons, the growth inherent in Life itself.

Does it also provide some hope to others though? People in far-away lands?

Maybe their dreams sometimes stop by my garden and rest in the shade of the elderberry trees?

Possibly the scent of the flowers touches the birds and butterflies, who carry it on to those in the cities.

I would like to think that the ordinary actions of one simple woman in a small garden somehow improves the world, not just immediately for my children, but in an ever-widening strengthening of the core of existence. By resolutely going about my business, perhaps I model a “normal” for those who have none. Can I reconcile my relatively easy life with theirs? I don’t know.

I don’t think anything would be gained by abandoning the obligations I have here and now; I don’t think people on the other side of the world would be helped if I suddenly uprooted my life and family and joined those who have little.

Dare I imagine the day when the women in Darfur, in Sri Lanka, in Harbin, in Punta del Este, in Sibiu, share with me the simple pleasure of watching our gardens and our children flourish?

I do imagine it! And I hope others can, too.