Connected While Apart
Community
Nourishment Then and Nourishment Now
Milkweed and Goldenrod with a bit of New England Asters in the background.
Dear Mayfield,
I had a lot of fun toward the end of September finding places where I could frame a photo that included both milkweed now past its prime and young and vibrant New England asters and goldenrod. Milkweed is the only host plant for adult Monarchs laying their eggs and for monarch caterpillars as they eat and eat and eat. When each year’s super-generation prepares to migrate southward in the fall, at the end of their time with us, their favorite sources for nectar are New England asters and goldenrod. These two plants are their superfoods as they bulk up for migration and the harsh winter that will follow. The first time I found milkweed, asters and/or goldenrod in the same picture, I paused to think about the food that was needed in the beginning and the food that is needed later on. All three of these plants are essential in the full lifespan of the Monarch super-generation. I found it very comforting with that first photo to realize that the well being of the species year after year did not rest on the blossoms of one plant alone. The milkweed was critical in one season; the asters and goldenrod were ideal in another. And all of them as fall ages will release or be left with the seeds to make it happen another year. Taken together, they are an organic reminder of community, where multiple and differing gifts are what’s best.
It is very difficult, even dangerous for our emotional and spiritual health when we routinely believe and act as though so much relies on us alone. That is a very heavy burden to bear. When we get into that frame of mind, the potential wealth of community is way out of focus, community among us and community across species. Peggy has a number of jars, each one filled with an item from the natural world. And those jars have names. Some of you may remember that her jar filled with empty chrysalises is a jar she calls “Success.” I have a few jars, one of them is filled with buttons. It is not a jar that I inherited from my mother or grandmother. I have known women friends over the years who have received a family button box or jar. When I was teaching my spiritual writing practice as a semester course at Eden Seminary, we always spent one day with buttons as writing prompts. Buttons suggest so many stories. One class learned that the buttons I brought to class didn’t come from a family collection. So the last day of class they presented me with a jar they had filled with buttons.
Initially, I treasured that jar because they had given it to me. I do still value it for that reason. But I also love my jar because buttons symbolize for me the possibility to connect, to close a gap that existed before, to join pieces of fabric into a whole. Now I call my jar of buttons, “Community.” Those buttons pose interesting questions about what we fasten together, how firm our blending is, and the particular gifts we each bring to our joining.
Both my jar of buttons and the overlap of nourishing milkweed, asters, and goldenrod in the fall give me cause to consider the nature of human community and the community of multiple species. How is it that we are trying to connect? Can we make a connection that will hold when forces try to pull it apart? Is there a richness to the diversity of nourishment we bring to our shared table? And is that nourishment for others beyond ourselves?
We all have different expressions right now of what it means to be separated from one another and from others who matter greatly to us as the communities in our lives. This pandemic separation doesn’t undo community for us. It can make us feel so far away from one another. But what brought us together still exists. And the nature of our whole that is larger than a sum of our individual parts is still real. Finally, the means by which we can nourish and serve the larger world will be needed more and more for some time to come. Such affirmations are to be found with the milkweed, asters, and goldenrod and in a simple jar of buttons named “Community.” What we miss is what we love.
Peace, Martha