The doggies killed a groundhog on our doggie walk at the park near our house this morning.
The groundhog didn’t suffer, I made sure of that with a quick and final blow to the back of the neck, an instant sever of the link between brain and spinal cord.
Revie was in his stroller, looking at the trees and sky, and I tucked the limp body beneath him in the pouch at the bottom of the stroller, and we walked back home.
Then, in our backyard, next to the junglegym, we said our thanks to the “grasshog” as my nephew called her, skinned her, and butchered up her meat.
photo by andrea h.
We looked at her delicate little feet, 4 toes in front, 5 in the back. And we gently pressed them into the surface of the soil to see what her tracks might have looked like.
And we made a stew from the meat with squash, and onions, and sweet potatoes, and kale from the garden.
And we marveled at the amazing taste.
And I’m telling you this,
because when I talk about reconnecting to our landbase,
I mean it not in a philosophical brain and feeling kind of way, although that is part of it,
but in a very real, knees dirty, hands sticky with blood, forehead sweaty kind of way.
I mean learning everything we can about the world around us so we can again take our rightful place in the grand scheme of things once again.
I mean learning how to grow food, and meat, and what is safe to eat in the forest and the meadow, and learning to hunt, and trap, and learning to tend our wildlands so we have greater biodiversity and carrying capacity.
I mean actually weaning ourselves off the products the corporations have to offer us. A gradual, and conscious rejection of their packaged foods, their bottled water, and their plastic junk.
And a replacing of their soul-less things with wild foods, goods we make ourselves, and the company of friends and family.
These skills will feel unfamiliar at first, and we will be clumsy.
But a sleeping part of ourselves,
will slowly awaken
And one day, when you lay down with your baby for a nap in the afternoon, you’ll smell the faint scent of groundhog on your hands, and it will call up misty distant memories, visions, of sun kissed afternoons spent amongst flowers and trees, and the sweet taste of clover, and the comforting dark of the deepest burrow.
And you will know in all your cells, and all the parts of yourself,
What it truly means to be connected.
Thank you for listening,
Tonight, we are lucky enough to have another insanely beautiful guest post from Sarah H. tonight, one of the most passionate and rebellious women I know. I’m proud to call her my friend. Love you Sarah, thank you for your words.
The inspiration for this poem came from listening to Scott Mann’s September 24th Permaculture Podcast, titled “Restoring Eden: Zone 4 Permaculture with Wilson Alvarez and Ben Weiss”. The idea that humans are meant to live with wild/natural ecosystems, having the responsibility to nurture the wild, and subsequently thriving; spurred a rather deep, nothing short of- spiritual conversation. I began seeing the wild where human design dominates, asking, “If I can go to the wild, than why can’t the wild come to me?” It is an attempt to merge humanity with the wild, to foster the emergence of something new and ancient.
wild: human environment
“You were once wild here, don’t let them tame you.”
Isadora Duncan (May 27, 1877 – September 14, 1927, Russian-
“And the walls became the world all around.”
Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are
“To be human is Zone 4; to be human is wild.”
Wilson Alvarez, The Permaculture Podcast with Scott Mann 9/24/13,
Restoring Eden: Zone 4 Permaculture with Wilson Alvarez and Ben
the way you part the curtains
black on light
into the bathroom sink-
chipping at the chest…
into a new
on the morning glass
wild salmon dawn-
stacked city yards
frozen on an open screen;
sometimes getting it right…
a forget the camera-
wild bird squawk
or the delay-
of a screen door shutting?
in shoe soles
scratching cement, between
wild beautiful commentary
all poor nutrition,
wild foraging behind
greasy pizza joint
puke on a hot day smell
wild stinging of the
monster-sized steel structures
intimidate amputated trees
wild favorite pair of
jeans sway on the line
motor running, insect-ile
bronze october dandelions
stomped out by skateboards and
kids getting off the bus
wild stalks of gray-purple flowered basil
mowed-down in the fence
like rushing water
clips of radio
wild blurps of the same love song
or wild rap, salsa
maybe punk rock
wild stretch mat
of fast leaves
a figure dancing through the streets…
wild stick in the mud
wild sit on a rock
wild plants in teapots
Here is the link to the permaculture podcast by Wilson and Ben