Lammas

In the wheel of the natural world the beginning of August is traditionally the time of the first harvest. Rituals were held and gifts were given to the Divine as gratitude for a successful planting season. But what happens when the planting season doesn’t end in bounty?

Our expectations of the natural world don’t hold up to the idealized, sanitized, perfect myth we have been given about the seasons, cycles, and nature. 
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Popular spiritual discussions about planting and harvesting come in a perfectly manicured timeframe, instead of the messy reality that is planting and growing. What happens when you plant seeds and nothing grows? And how would it be different if instead of a personal failure we had a more realistic expectation of the process, and that sometimes no matter how much effort, the harvest just is not what we would have hoped for.

Anyone who has gardened has had this experience. With the best of intentions and supplied with an abundance of plant knowledge, some crops still do not thrive. Bugs, draught, too much rain, challenging soil, etc. overpower the lofty intentions of plant, tend, grow, harvest. 

Other times things grow wildly without tending, without following the rules, without being planted by a person, and in the most unusual environments…like the moonflower that grows in the cracks of a neighbor’s driveway. There is wisdom and then there is knowing our wisdom is not the end of possibilities. 

My struggle with the modern new age movement (and the girl boss movement, hustle/grind/grit culture, etc. etc.) is that it has made the myth of anything is possible an idealized, individualized beacon to strive for without context, paradox, or nuance. Idealizing the natural world - plant, tend, grow, harvest - that ends with bountiful crops and perfectly shaped produce - harms us in that it pulls us away from reality. It does not prepare us for the situation of a real garden, which in turn does not prepare us for the gardening of our lives. 

How often have we reached a harvest season and there is nothing tangible to show for the effort it has taken to engage with life? How often have we worked on a project, worked towards a dream and it withers even with the best of intentions and effort? Maybe I am the only one. Sometimes it can feel that way with shining curated lives beaming into our palms day after day. 

And when I get tangled in the myth and the idealized natural world, I take a step outside to get a reality check. Deer eating plants, wind destroying a flower crop, bugs, lack of water, and planting in the wrong place coincide alongside plants thriving, bountiful with flowers and seeds. Some plants flourishing and others a lesson on the vulnerability of creation. 

An antidote for this individualized, idealized garden is to call upon collective care. Again not some idealized, utopian version of collective care, but care rooted in real world living. What would happen if we all had literal gardens to feed us and your neighbor's garden struggled while yours thrived? The simple and profound act of offering part of your harvest, that is where the devotion to the natural world steps in within this scenario. 

Collective care is acknowledging that tending to our web of beings isn’t something we can only do when we feel well and we are not busy. Collective care can be a voice note, a text message, an email letting the person know they matter to you. We can’t assume that others will water the beings that grow in our garden.  

The herbicide to collective care are the thoughts “I don’t want to bother them” and “I am sure others are reaching out/taking care/helping/acknowledging them.” 

You aren’t bothering anyone with the messages, "I am thinking of you. I am here for you. Here’s how I can help. You popped into my mind." Those are the sun, the water, the shelter for a thriving collective. We are the elements in our collective care garden. 

Collective care requires us to share our harvest, our resources, our capacity (not to the detriment of ourselves) but because we simply cannot thrive without the care and thought of others.

​For some this collective care is built into your families (chosen or genetics) and communities which you are a part of. For others, Otherness and living on the edges of society, the term collective care can seem just as utopic as the perfect garden or as dangerous as the words “community” and “family” (IFKYK). 

We all need tending. This the common denominator among the garden of humanity. There isn’t one person in your phone contacts who can make it through this world on their own. If our neighbor’s literal or symbolic garden doesn’t yield enough to give gifts to the divine, our society isn’t strong enough to make it through the winter. It’s that simple. 

The invitation for this season is where can we be realistic about our life garden? What ways can we tend to crops, people, projects in a way that offers hope and meaning while also honoring our capacity? Where can we share our harvest or bounty so the collective can thrive? And what pruning and weeding needs to happen so spaciousness and time can take honor among our values?

My prayer for this season is: May we each have the courage to look around and see reality. May we each have the desire to tend to ourselves and others as we do for our plants and animals. May we all know what a bountiful harvest is through our own garden and/or the generosity of spirit, time, resources, and wisdom of others. And may we each re-member that offering to humans is offering to the divine. 

Blessings, 

Valerie