It was one full moon ago that the dragon began stirring. Dragonfruit, that is. Which, in its cactus-ey, spinal column-like adherence to our outdoor shower wall, it began to morph, bud, and bloom.
Seems this “Queen of the Night” responds well to full moonlight, as we watched hard succulent skin, unfold in the darkness to reveal the softest petals and hair-fine stamen. The fragrance was subtle and sweet. The pollinators loved it. And we needed the bees to buzz. Their assistance would ensure fruiting. Something that we were told would, quite possibly, not be accomplished.
“I’ve seen blooms on my dragonfruit multiple times, but never got fruit from it.”
When our impressive flowers withered, we wondered.
One month later, the full Harvest moon. Just as quickly as last month’s flowers emerged, this cycle offers blushing shades of pink spreading across folds of fruit-in-the-making.
It looks like the bees were successful!
This soon-to-come harvest in process, bodes well on our days. The Bohemian has been staking out spots for planting over 300 new trees. Holes get dug, while our eyes can only scan the field, imagining. What takes root now, later fruits for future.
Me, I’m readying to share a book with the world, fulfilling a vision I’ve held since I was seven years old and pressing fingertips on the keys of a manual typewriter.
On this full moon, as we near the autumnal equinox, here’s to a fruitful harvest for all!
For those just tuning in, here’s the dragonfruiting process revisited:
Yesterday marked two years ago that I met the Bohemian. I was walking the beach at sunset and there he was. I could say ‘how could I have known he would become my husband?’ but the truth is, from the moment I saw him, there was something stirred deep within me.
In the months following that fateful day, my heart opened wide, I grappled with fear, I surrendered to Love (with minor, random freak-outs), and when he asked me to marry him, I said ‘Yes.’
Before the Bohemian, I had been living as a single woman, raising Jeb from the age of nine months, essentially on my own, but for the supportive ‘tribe’ of a handful of friends that offered love and presence. For nearly seven years, I was solitary on a small, remote island, only dipping my toes in the pond of romance with a few long-distance relationships.
Mostly, it was me, Jeb, work and school, with sporadic moments of magic. On occasion I would catch a glimpse: Jeb sitting on the porch rail strumming his six-year old hand on ukulele strings. The rare treat of me on a solo morning swim, both the sun and moon in the blue above.
I wanted to capture these moments in a jar and save them. Uncork the bottle and inhale the essence of all-things-love-and-life as a remedy to remember. Keep that panacea close for whenever I was lonely, or exhausted, or simply numbed in the bread aisle of the grocery store.
That year before the Bohemian was a turning point. I had dared to dream that I could find a mate, fostering two remote relationships with promise (one in India, the other Switzerland). In both instances, I broke through scar tissue from the past and poured my heart and soul into nurturing hope in love. And in both cases, when reality stepped in, up close and personal (like dishes in the sink, or a fussy six-year old), they both stepped out.
And thank goodness. Because little did I know, the Bohemian awaited just ahead. But that would be later.
At the time, I took my heartache and my longing for that pure, poignant essence of life and bet it all on bottling it in writing. If I could record my moments, day by day, maybe I’d find some thread of something meaningful. Maybe I would feel more alive. Maybe it would help me remember that that. That something special, which is present even when I’m price comparing sourdough and whole wheat, baguette or sliced.
Despite the doubt that no one cared to hear commentary about my son discovering the existence of coupons, or how I stayed home to study spelling words instead of going out to the hip restaurant with friends, I wrote about it anyway. It was the process of moving through my fear to express myself that was as important as the pieces that were produced.
And all along, I held this understanding that none of it was important, really. Not important like global warming, Syrian refugees, or domination of the world’s food supply by GMO experimenters. Those things mattered.
I only had my little world of bite-size chunks. But I figured that I needed to start with what was before me, before expanding to larger realms. So I worked with what I had. And what I had was Lego guys and a little loneliness. Heartbreak and sorting the junk drawer.
From that place, For the Archives began. That was three years and over 700 posts ago.
Today I work in the distillery. Taking yet another leap of faith that any of this matters (and yet, again, knowing it does not – not, really). I have collected some highlights from that first year of blogging. Made a book and it is currently in process of being published, expected to be available at the end of this month. (In fact, as I type this, the proof for my cover comes through and I’ll admit, I get a little teary when I see it, alive and real and surprisingly beautiful).
And, no, this little collection is not significant. Not like a mission to Mars, not impacting like the work of Joan Didion. But it is mine, and so, in that way, it matters. Just like everyone’s expression matters. And the world needs each of us to express our deepest gift of creativity and truth.
So in my process of sharing the distilled essence of these moments of the everyday, I’m hopeful that each reader may relate to their own mundane and see some magic.
Infuse their own bottle of remembering. Inhale deeply. Share it, too.
I don’t usually write about politics, but the “Mana March” I participated in on Sunday was more than political…
Some of the world’s largest agricultural biotech companies have taken up 15,000 acres of Kauai land to test genetically modified crops. A part of their process involves massive amounts of pesticide use. About 18 tons of “restricted use pesticides” are sprayed annually (Atrazine to name one, which was banned in Europe in 2004), as well as employing at least five times that amount of ‘non-restricted’ pesticides, which are potentially just as harmful.
One company, Pioneer DuPont, has been recorded as applying these pesticides to their crops between 10 – 16 times a day, at least 250 days a year. There are currently no buffer zones to protect nearby schools, neighborhoods or waterways from the drift or seepage of these toxic pesticides. Currently, the agribusiness companies utilizing Kauai’s 15,000 acres for their genetically modified crop experiments, refuse to disclose the exact chemicals being used, when, or where.
Residents of the surrounding community where these crops are located are reporting unexplained illnesses. Babies are being born with strange, life-long defects. Doctors, nurses and teachers are voicing concern, especially for children, who’s developing bodies (in utero and in maturing years) are most susceptible to the harmful effects of these chemicals.
A bill, titled Bill 2491, has been created to insist that our island have a right to know what pesticides are being used and that a buffer zone be created around drift-prone areas, especially schools. It also insists that environmental evaluations begin to determine the safety of these chemicals, implementing restrictions when necessary.
Sunday, Jeb, the Bohemian, and I walked with about 4,000 Kauaians down Rice Street to the County building in support of Bill 2491. The demonstration is said to have been the largest in our small island’s history.
This issue of Genetically Modified Foods, pesticide use, and monoculture farming is complex and multi-layered. There is much that I have yet to learn.
One thing I do know, you have to care for the earth in order for it to care for you.
For myself, for my island, and for our children, I walked to represent this truth. It was one small gesture, but with 4,000 strong, it was many steps in the right direction.
For the Archives 