Every morning, at 6:00 am, as the orchard awakens, my partner Loretta occupies the back porch, greeting the day. There she observes birds gather straw for their nests or drink water from a dew drop. She is present as early morning stars fade into the quiet sky, a crescent moon dips below the horizon, changing with the days. First light casts long shadows across the orchard, and the stately trees, always the trees, offer their being each day.
As seasons cycle, the leaves tell a story: first in small buds on bare branches, then sprouts venture into the sharp air, grow to a summer shade canopy, eventually transforming into a bright yellow dance, only to brown, crackle and fall as the air chills again. A barren branch remains, and a promise that Spring will come again.
I admire her for her devotion. Personally, if I could sit still, I'd occupy my own sit spot too. For me, cultivating a new way of being comes with tending the land and accepting her gifts with deep gratitude— mindful that the trees feed me and care for me as I care for them. The land gives me joy and strength to do whatever I am called to do in the days ahead.
It wasn’t always this way for me.
The Fifth Gospel
"The Fifth Gospel" was the title of a textbook I received while on a visit to the sea of Galilee over three decades ago. The Holy Land offered a whole new way of seeing the Gospels. This was my first insight into the power of place.
The Bible is filled with references to the land and landmarks. Think of phrases like “streams in the desert” or “land of milk and honey.” When Jesus spoke of the mustard seed or the vineyards, he drew on what the people knew. These words were grounded in real places that shaped the people and their understanding of the Divine.
For example: there is a line in scripture where Jesus says It would be "easier for a camel to enter the eye of the needle than for a rich man to get into heaven" What the heck, right? It helps to know that the main gates in the City of Jerusalem are large enough for a person on camel to enter--but there is one entryway called "the Eye of the Needle"--which is only large enough for a single human being to pass. Suddenly that mysterious line in scripture makes more sense.
Every place and time holds deep wisdom and story--as sacred as any scripture. What can the wisdom of this place we call Lake County teach us now?
Lake County
I moved to Lake County twenty years ago. Within a few months of my arrival, George W Bush was elected to a second term as president. I was thoroughly discouraged, borderline cynical and very angry at the electorate for making such a horrible choice. The first time, I could understand, but TWO terms? Perhaps you can relate to the feeling?
At the time, I could not imagine a worse outcome. (Clearly I need to work on my imagination!) In any case, I decided it was best to isolate—to "hunker down" and focus my energies on creating a sustainable homestead.
With that in mind, I enrolled in a weekend “Introduction to Permaculture” class at the then Solar Living Center in Hopland, California. Like many in the class, I thought it was a class on how to garden better.
This class would end up changing the trajectory of my life. It would lead to me to being a bit more present here, to reaching out to others, and even serving two terms in public office—but that's another story.
To my surprise, permaculture focused on deep observation-- listening to the land and forming a reciprocal relationship. As I plunged my hands into living soil, for the first time I felt in my heart what I was learning in my head.
We explored the ethics, principles and practices of ecological design--how to work with and within nature--to align with natural forces and agencies--to create abundance. -- How Earth earths.
I was captivated. The prime directive and the ethics spoke to my soul: to take responsibility for our own existence and that of our children-and do it now. Follow the three ethics: Care of Earth, Care of People, And from the abundance, Return the Surplus (to earth and to people).
My biggest a-ha of all: the principles and practices, how nature works, could be applied to any living system: to the garden, the farm, my own spirit--and even to a whole community.
I learned that our home, is also OUR LIFE BOAT. Look around you--these are some of the people in our life boat!
And, most hopefully, I learned how nature creates big and lasting change:
A problem is an opportunity
Feed what you want to grow
Start small--you test key elements to reduce risk (and backlash)
Conserve energies -- looking for the least change for the greatest effect.
Pay attention to cycles, --every season is another opportunity for abundance
And my biggest epiphany:
The stability of any system is directly proportional to the number of beneficial connections in that system.
In other words: avoid isolation—seek connection.
These principles and practices were derived from countless hours, days, months, years and even millennia of observing nature.
Listening to the land happens over time. Long, long, long and thoughtful observation. With patience. The learning never stops.
Long and Thoughtful Observation
I'm SO aware that I'm a newbie--having been at this "tending the land" for only twenty years. I'm just now beginning to understand what it means to take responsibility for my own existence--and to be in reciprocal relationship with land and her people. I haven't been here long enough, nor observed enough, to know very much at all! It's humbling.
Here in Lake County--our deepest knowledge comes from those who have been here, thoughtfully observing, the longest. Of course, Human beings have been in relationship with the land for most of human history, and this relationship in most places was deeply reciprocal.
Ancestors from this place understood what it meant to be a part of all things here, and passed their wisdom of living with and within this place to each new generation -- in baskets, story, dance and song—as ritual and cultural practices that carried a sense of the sacred and the honoring of life itself.
Colonization, massacres of original peoples, and human industrialization severed that relationship. The land was seen as a resource to be used and consumed. And many saw nature as separate from human beings.
Many forgot how to be in a deep relationship with place.
But The Land is still here, speaking--just waiting for us to listen...
Ours is a place of towering oaks, of Mt Konocti, of hot summers and gentle autumns. An ancient lake. This land remembers fire --both good fire and destructive fire. The keystone species here is the human being: the original people who tended the land and the latecomers who attempted domination and control. The land most certainly remembers and responds.
Nature has much to teach those who attempt domination and control. Eventually, it's feedback time. Nature speaks--as Oprah would say, first with a tap or a whisper, but if you don't hear it or heed it, with a 2x4.
Clear Lake speaks to us. It might be saying "as waste and sediment flows into the lake, as CO2 grows in the atmosphere--my response includes blooms of cyanobacteria and aquatic weeds." Feedback.
Global Warming? It's feedback too.
The land surrounding Clear Lake speaks... it might be saying "When you stopped the original people from their tending with good fire, you get BIG fire--big enough to kill trees." More Feedback. Obviously a 2x4.
But to hear the whisper? This requires cultivating a new way of being, a deeper observation, and a profound gratitude.
An Invitation
When I first plunged my hands into living soil in this place, I glimpsed a new way of being, one that revealed the magic of listening to Earth. At first, I was drawn to the ideas offered by permaculture design. The surprise though—There is magic and JOY in this way of being.
The land invites us to go beyond techniques or principles or designs--to become more deeply human, to find our place in (and our contribution to) the web of life.
Where do we go from here?
Each of us will be called differently in the days, weeks and months ahead.
I feel like just two short weeks ago, we caught a glimpse of joy. A tantalizing whiff of springtime. Now we face a dark winter of chaos. And the contrast is stark, isn't it?
I don't know what will happen, but I do know this: We are at an inflection point--change is afoot. And in nature--during times of chaos and change--anything can happen!
We must tend to our own well-being and energies--our own mental and spiritual health, so we can hear and follow what is ours to do.
I'd like to share a poem that I wrote after my own (and similar) inflection point in 2004:
Different Dreams
Google me and you might find
that I once sat behind a mahogany desk
In a corner office, with a view of the bay.
I decided things of importance, and thought myself so Awake.
But wisdom found my hiding places
haunting me with dreams of twisting buildings and tidal waves
and earth shifting, opening wide the ground beneath my feet.
Now, I spread straw in the orchard.
I harvest snow peas and snap beans and sage,
and create fragrant, savory soup from fresh kale.
Squash and tomatoes fill my baskets in summer.
I am as morning mist descends from our mountain
and white pelicans ride gossamer threads above our waters
I make clay pots,
and pray amidst dancing trees, listening
deeply called to heal the land
from a wildness within me that doesn't decide anything
yet knows what it means to be in this place,
enchanted and magical,
loving.
At night, I dream different dreams.
My friends, nature has the capacity to heal us, to energize us, to spark joy within us even in the darkest of times. And nature constantly speaks to us if we have ears to hear. Today I’m certain she is saying this:
Serve LIFE! Tend to the land and waters and people of our home, each in whatever way we are called. Start with zone zero--DEEP self care.
And, please hold faith in the promise of the Fifth Gospel: Spring Will Come.
Much Love,
Author Note: This is the text of a sermon to the Unitarian Universalist Community in Lake County on November 17, 2024. Thus, it might be better heard than read, so I’ve created a recording: