soil and sprigs
I can’t imagine a nicer morning for L and I to begin our volunteering “career” at Reflection Riding. The light was mild, the shade generous, and the fan gently blew the dappled air under the potting enclosure at the native plant nursery. We were given the tour, a crash course in native plants and the philosophy of the conservancy, and then we set to work making soil and repotting as many Narrowleaf Mountain Mint plants as we could in our allotted two hours and change. L had a great time, once he got the hang of it. I forgot how much he really does love the outdoors. It reminded me of the vibe from our Cub Scout camping adventures, which I endured, but he relished (although I’ll concede there were some significant memories made during those trips). I felt very proud of him as I witnessed him in his element, happy and helpful. We even got a chance to say hello to some of the red wolves in the wildlife rehabilitation center before we left.
Earlier this evening, with a small group at the church, I watched and discussed Gather, a documentary about food sovereignty focused on Native Americans. I appreciated the film, and didn’t disagree with anything put forth in it, or during the discussion afterward, even when it took the inevitable turn toward the systemic racism baked into the Constitution, or this arbitrary notion of inalienable, God-given human rights that are supposedly self-evident, but really aren’t. I’m eager to hear Greg expand in this idea of a “theology of place” during his lecture next month, given how important the concept of place is to me; I’d like to see if it’s possible to integrate those two ideas and create a kind of emotional flexibility that would enable me to feel more at home where I currently am, and wherever I’m meant to be next.
I asked a few questions during the discussion time, but given that we were running long, didn’t get a chance to offer the comment I really wanted to, that in spite of all the hardship and struggle the subjects of the documentary (and the indigenous community writ large) has endured, I do envy them their sense of purpose. They have something they’re fighting for, even if it’s just to preserve a cultural heritage that stretches back hundreds, if not thousands of years. It gives them a nobility, a focus completely absent my own life, and the lives of thousands, millions of their more privileged non-indigenous neighbors. Am I reacting out of a place of privilege in even feeling that way as I watch? I’m not entirely sure, especially since I’ve copped to feeling envious of those who’ve gone through more personal struggles in their life because of their perspective, and ability to speak out of a place of having living through what they’re empathizing with—regardless of their ethnic background. I’ve had to construct meaning out of the flecks of domesticity in which I’m “present,” and the very ordinary mission of being a good father and wanting the best for my kids—one of the most common purposes around, and not one that confers anything distinctive. But I think that’s OK, and I’m equally wary of manufacturing an artificial sense of purpose, just to have one. None of the subjects of the documentary asked for their lives, such as they are, and for their raison d’être to flow out of it. They didn’t seek out purpose as an end in itself, but just embraced what was in front of them. The best thing I can do, at this point, is simply to hold the line, place my heart content in God’s sovereignty, and to keep my eyes open for opportunities. They’ll come.