Summer: Slivers of Sunshine
Making do with what you got
Summer’s abundance of daylight and warmth holds us no matter where we grow. As the sun creeps along the sky, I long to hack away the shadow of fear and grief that looms wide as squash leaves choking out the sungold tomatoes in my garden. For many, we feel like the unripe, sour plums stuck in the shade—our needs unmet and our futures uncertain. I remind myself that even then, our forgotten fruit holds seeds that grow again. May we all find a sliver of light from a sun that has enough warmth for all of us. This brightness may not bring a bounty of feats, fun, and friendship, but it can gently open with possibility and respite, again and again.
My sunbeam came as I spent a long weekend laying in a hammock in the Wisconsin pines marveling at how skillfully each tree found their spot of sun. The land sustained a full canopy and many seedlings and saplings erupted on the forrest floor. Not all would grow to see the fullness of the sun, but there was room and resources and roles in each dapple.
Susan Simard, author of Finding the Mother Tree, invited me to listen to forrest again. Not just the creak of their trunks or colliding branches, but to their stories of growth and balance and survival. I spent many hours listening and watching and being with the pines on the native lands of the Ho-Chunk and Menominee peoples. I swam with creek trout, read sci-fi and indigenous history, foraged and sun printed grass bouquets, and visited ancient petroglyphs in Roche a Cri State Park. I welcomed the monarchs and heard migrating birds before they, like me, returned south.
Like many, I feel powerless and scared and overwhelmed and I will not stop talking about it. The violence in the everyday requires a renegotiation of how we live our lives on a planet where life is not protected and valued. Every meal and garden harvest and weekend in the pines is a reminder of how food and land is weaponized on our planet. I cannot share recipes for an abundant summer harvest this year, but I can share my sliver of sunshine and cultivate hope that we find the wisdom of the forrest in our bodies and that our seedlings are safe. There is enough sun and space and stability for all.
A reflective recipe for getting by together, inspired by the pines:
Where did you find your spot of sun? A physical place outside or an abstract one where it was safe to exhale, feel, and be.
Who surrounded you? This can be IRL people you turned towards or characters, live and stuffed animals, ancestors, and plants.
Who guided you and what did you learn? See links below if you need a nudge.
Where do you notice new growth? Find one small bud that wasn’t there before—it happens without effort or attention.
A few things I would like you to read instead of summer supper series:
My father’s vegetable plants, grown in plastic containers on a rooftop, are saving us from starvation by Nour Abo Aisha
Good, Fine, and Okay Are Not Feelings: The case for expanding your emotional vocabulary by Erica Chidi
Dawn by Octavia Butler—I will be thinking on the “fatal flaw of humans—intelligence and hierarchy” for a long time.
Stream the award winning film, The Golden Harvest, by Alia Younis and read her poem below
A Recipe for Being Palestinian by Alia Yunis
Use olive oil every day, many times a day…
it will keep strong those of us who have a home in which to
cook,
even when the news makes it hard to breathe.
Rise like our bread to speak for those who have no food.
Experiment with maqluba until it stands upside down perfectly
while you stay upright no matter how others try to bring you
down.
Soak knafa cheese until is sweet enough to counter the
aftertaste of tears.
Fold into conversations with those who only know us as
terrorists or hummus experts,
hummus and humanity sound similar in English, and they are
better shared.
Remember our heritage is baked into Palestine’s soil-- sage in
the fall, grape leaves in the spring,
And rooted year-round in our family trees –pomegranate, fig,
apricot, almond, orange.
Taken care of by our ancestors to garnish with pine nuts
memories for our descendants.
Use olive oil every day, many times a day…
…lest we be eaten away.A sunny smattering from the garden, ripe wild cherries, and shared meals. See you next week, Fall!
