For parents and everyone the advent of Summer inevitably brings along with it a string of seasonal wonders and a certain set of challenges, scheduling changes, and out of school time activities to determine and implement.
For me and my family this summer was no different. There was camp to organize. Summer trips to consider. Summer work schedules to juggle. And the age-old question of what to do with a teenager, camp, work, volunteer, or couch potato?
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I don't think you ever know as a parent whether you're making good decisions at any given time. You can only ever do your best to consider all the options and Hippocratically hope that at the very least your choices do no harm to your children.
And so it is that we model through the beauty and Heat that is the south Florida summer in search of shade from the intense sunshine and splashes of 85 degree water which we consider cool.
The search for balance is epic and continual. Just as you think you've got things figured out, something else happens to make you start from scratch.
Marie Huntley, aka Ms. Peaches is a force to be reckoned with in the Sistrunk community of Fort Lauderdale. An extremely talented singer, doer and community historian, Ms. Peaches is one of those people who is alway encouraging good stuff to happen in her neighborhood.
I've been thinking a lot about stories, storytelling, history and how we each find inspiration and encouragement to keep going in times of difficulty, and to go as far as we can in times of joy... about how we can see mirrors of our story in the histories of others... and how important our stories are, to ourselves, our families, and our communities. Together, our stories are our true history.
So often, we tell versions of history that have been learned from books, or elders, or the land and geographies that we've come through... but every once in a while, we get to reflect, and tell a little bit of the story that comes through us, from our own life experience. It is these nuggets of light, understanding, memory and insight that I find most impactful when listening to the words people share.
So, in the spirit of reclaiming our own narratives, telling our own stories, and with the encouragement of Ms. Peaches... here goes:
My story begins in the hearts of the continents we now know as America, Africa and on that island we now call the UK. My heartbeat began in the womb of a woman who survived a thousand wars, over six continents, from a seed planted by the grandson of a hunter who'd been on his island for almost a million years.
My parents remain one of the most unlikely odd couples to make it through 45 years of marriage in the most dire of social realities. One of the things they had in common was that they were both immersed in the lifestyle of 1950s anglican ministry. My mother talks about attending church sponsored after school activities every single day of the week. My father was an altar boy, though I don't ever remember his mother, my grandmother speak about church, except for christenings, weddings and funerals. But for all their early involvement in church, almost all my early memories are of being with my parents at parties, gatherings and outside on the land, either in the back yard, on a beach or near a river. I spent almost all my summers either scouring the Scarborough Bluffs or scampering up the steps of the Maya "pyramids" and sometimes, both! I didn't play video games or even board games, really, my toys were twigs, flowers and found objects. And my favorite pass time was sauterning along the edges of the water and the wilderness... in that respect, not much has changed.
My earliest memory of school is walking along the fence, picking up sticks, and using them to play the chain links like a piano, listening to the different sounds the metal would make depending on the size, length and width of each stick. I still remember a few of the songs and poems I learned in pre-school. My mother tells me that once, when I was four, we were walking in "The Guild Inn" and she couldn't find me anywhere... only to look around a large boulder to find me teaching a group of German tourists my favorite nursery school song, and they were singing it too, despite the fact that they spoke no English, nor I German. Art and teaching are in the blood. My mom and dad met teaching, I spent a year living with my Aunt while she was an art and history teacher, my sister taught art and, despite my mothers advice to the contrary, I also taught math and social studies through art for 7-12 graders. My passion now, though, is community based education. Those formal and informal learning opportunities we place in front of folks to learn something new, whether they thought they wanted to know or not. This translates well to a variety of interests, like community outreach, social media, museums, health, wellness, prevention programming and community building.
The work my mother put in to making sure that I know as fully as possible who I am propelled me to pursue a career in anthropology, archaeology, art and wellness. At the tender age of 17, I won an entrance scholarship to York University in my hometown of Toronto. Working my way through college, I spent my summers at the Government of Belize's Department of Archaeology, and winters working part time at the front desk of the Royal Ontario Museum and as a research assistant to Dr. Elizabeth Graham. I had so many wonderful women helping me learn during these adolescent years: Pauline Shirt, Deanna Sheridan, Sadie Buck, and the late Shirley Shilling & Irma Martin, just to name a few of the feminine forces that helped shape my world.
Eventually, once I finally graduated, I went back to the Belize Department of Archaeology to work as staff Museologist/ Curator as part of the Maya Area Sites Development Programme. When that grant funded project was complete, I took what I thought would be a two month break to spend time with my aging grandparents back in Toronto. That break led to an unexpected two year apprenticeship with one of Indian Country's most well known educators, Dr. Edward Benton Banaise. At the conclusion of working to help develop (and name) his most recent publication: Anishinabe Almanac, I once again thought I'd be heading home to my mother's land in Mesoamerica. This time, it was the opening of a community based school chartered specifically to teach Native American youth through an integrated arts approach that kept me grounded in the Midwest. It would be another 13 years before I finally got the call from my mother that it was time I returned to their chosen home halfway between Mesoamerica and the Great Lakes: The Greater Everglades region, right here in #OurMiramar.
So after earning my Bachelor of Arts Degree, being made Midewiwin, earning my Mexica traje, and working alongside some of the very best educators, historians, community builders and storytellers, I packed up the treehouse apartment, and headed back to the Sunshine State. That was four years ago now. I've completed all my life goals, except one: to relearn one of my ancestral Maya languages. I know words here and there, from the study of archaeology and danza, but to be able to string those together in a sequence, to speak thought into being through language, my language... that is the one thing I have yet to do on this earth... hopefully before it's time for me to return my borrowed bag of bones to the Mother Earth from whence they were constructed.
We all come to this conscious part of Earth with a gift and for a purpose. Mine is to be as fully who I am as I can. It's a journey that I'm still on, still struggling with every day, and also one in which I find great joy and satisfaction. I hope that sharing this small piece of who I am will help to encourage someone out there to pursue their passion a little further, persevere a little longer and reach a little higher, for what we aspire to is what we are here to do.
#MesoamericanDanza presentation at Treehugger Organic Farms
Today we said our farewell to a piece of land that has sustained us and our community here in South Broward County for the past 4 years... a permaculture oasis in the midst of the concrete jungle we know as South Florida, east of the Everglades... a local food sanctuary known as Treehugger Organic Farms, now listed as permanently closed on your google GPS mapping system.
It was a bittersweet walk through the daikon radishes, lesser known banana species, greens, fruit trees, birds and butterflies. This farm felt like home, that safe place you can go to for peace, quiet, and tenderly cared for oceans of green.
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There was a food forest on a mulch hill, a coconut grove interspersed with comfrey plants, florida nopalitos, tumeric and ginger, a spring fed pond that supplies water to the farm, and rotating fields of boniato, tomato, kale, collards, mustard, fennel, spinach, beans, millet, sugar cane, and just about everything in between.
One day after the mega #PeoplesClimateMarch in several cities, and on the eve of #InternationalWorkersDay, it seemed like a huge mountain to move. The reality of agricultural land tenure here in Florida is that access to farmable land is unstable, market based, and temporary. In reflecting, I realize that personally, I subscribe more to the Haudenosaunee approach to land management whereby we humans are responsible to protect, nurture and strengthen the land/ soil/ earth, on behalf of it's only true owners, that generation of unborn children who has not yet arrived here via the miracle we know as birth.
Miami Herald photo by Al Diaz
What a timely consideration given the fact that I am, for the first time in my life, the biological auntie to one of these not-yet-born owners of the earth. But in the volatile market economy that most of us are engaged within by choice or necessity, land is but a commodity, like humans once were, to be bought, sold and traded at the will of those who believe themselves to be in positions of power over others.
But this momentary twinge of grief in losing a space in which to enjoy the company of others, and ourselves in the company of Mother Earth and her pretties, is just a reminder that in fact we are owners of nothing, but rather bearers of ideas, thoughts, insights, and the potential to seed a new generation of humans with the capacity to return to a life steeped in nature, health and harmony with the cycles of all living beings including the soil, rock, sand and oil that make up the material we know as earth.
From north to south on this part of our continent, March is the beginning of the time when the waters begin to flow freely again over the surface of the earth, be they melting fresh, salt or sap. World Water Day, International Rivers Day and World Water Week fall within this time, as does the beginning of the flow of life giving maple sap in the northern climates of the eastern woodlands, my birth land.
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Like wise, as beings of the water, we were busy this month, being who we are, remembering from whence life flows... in fact, as we write, there is a four day walk for the rights of mother earth happening right here in greater Miami led by two of the indigenous people that take care of this part of the earth. They are walking to the Miami Commission meeting on April 4th to bring attention to the need for all of us to make decisions that will result in a positive impact for the earth and all of the beings who live amongst us.
May this flow of life continue throughout our season, our year, and the bundle of years that we know as an era. Stand up kind and gentle soldiers, our time to heal one another of our anger, apathy and bad decision making is now. Let us work togther to make a place that is safe for our children.
This last month or so has been a whirlwind of emotions and activity, from the largest ever mobilization of women in the United States, to the apparent divide and conquer tactics that seem to be part of the legislative docket... And yet, through it all, I do my best to remain focused, fearless and determined in my resolve to provide a solid path to the future. Not much to say, lots to do. Here are a few snapshots in that effort. Never give up!!!
Guess who won a Puffin Foundation Grant?
THANK YOU
We make the road by walking... an old proverb, cliche even, but words of wisdom which I find myself even more in need of these days than usual.
Spent the day at #MAMP2017 with an incredible cadre of artists, businesses, organizations, administrators and consumers of every type and genre of art you can imagine.
Thanks to a gracious last minute scholarship from #BrowardArts for this sold out conference, I got a whole lot of tips, tricks, advise and more importantly practice in translating what I do to an audience of potential donors, supporters, sponsors and funders. It was not an easy task by any means!
Definitely need a lot more practice to hone those communication skills to transfer my messaging to a group of investors, so different from the cozy, like minded social networks I'm used to operating within. Nope, this was my version of shark tank - and I actually get along quite well with sharks, just not humans who think like them! Far far removed from the ideals of community wellness and readiness for behavior change that are more familar terrain for me. Interesting thing is, though, the desired outcomes for influencing behavior, motivating action and evaluating impact still shine through! So maybe its just the process and jargon that seem so divergent. In any case, the day sure got me thinking, stretching, learning and appreciating the opportunity to meet some sparkling colleagues, allies and experts in this vast field we know as a fundamental right and necessity for all people of all ages... art.
This morning, in answer to a call from a young mother, I
packed up my water bundle and headed out across the street to the recently
restored wetlands, the only mixed use conservation area in our county. It was
only 9 am and already one of those long days when you have to make a whole
bunch of decisions regarding what path to follow, whether to stick to the plan,
or if not, which options to follow in pursuit of a day full of meaning, growth,
commitment, love, community and wellness. Another of those many days when one walks a precarious path
to that distant and elusive goal: balance…
At every turn the questions bubble, push or pull, stay or
leave, come or go… in which cases I tend to throw logic to the wind and do my
best to follow whatever instinct I can muster. So was this day, even at its
earliest point.
So I left the kids in bed, packed up the water bundle, and
headed out on the epic journey across the street. As soon as I arrived, I was
surprised at the park entry fee, which is only collected on holidays and
weekends, and of course I’d forgotten that today is in fact the beginning of a
long weekend. So I doled out my buck
fifty, and proceeded to find a spot in the nearly empty human half of the
conservation park area.
It was a minimalist type of bundle – water, water vessel,
cloth, a bit of Cuban cigar tobacco, and that’s about it. I did grow some
tobacco this summer, but it was so hot, my plants all got baked before they
bore any flowers! I’ll plant again now that #FloridaWinter’s arrived and it’s a
bit cooler…
As I troddled down the paved sidewalk that links the park
entry way with the wetland trail for humans, I was met immediately by an
incredibly beautiful mature bald eagle swooping around just above the over
water bridge trail. What a welcome greeting!
I somewhat sheepishly did my best to capture the moment on cell video
and then put away the phone and enjoyed the swoops and circles the eagle made
before heading out to the north.
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Pleased that my intentions seem to have already been
received, I continued down the path until I reached the westernmost edge of the
eastern lagoon. Such a gorgeous mix of native water plants, grasses, sedges,
trees and wildflowers! Terry the ranger says that this waterway running alongside
the Florida Turnpike was once part of the canoe trail into the everglades. I love the way that this field has been
converted – restored to its original topography – a wetland, lagoon, pineland
and live oak hammock.
After making my offerings of tobacco and songs, I spent a
moment wishing my boys were by my side rather than still tucked into bed, so,
in honor of the little one’s “thunderbird boy” creation earlier this month, I
left a “thunderbird woman” on the snow white sand for all to see, until the
next rain drops dance by to scoop her up for a whirl.
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As I snapped the last documentary pics, and wrapped up my
bundle to head back for my big babies, I was met by another incredible
surprise, the eagle was back, this time, circling over the east side of the
park, which is also the area where we live. This time, I felt like a happy
little human, skipping along, playing with the eagle, opening my wings and
pretending to fly.
I am so grateful for the work of all who are intentionally
and strategically building our communities, by sharing our histories, our
personal journeys, our goals, our triumphs. It is truly an honor to witness and
participate in putting together a path that will serve as a road, a guide, a
map for ourselves, our neighbors and our children in the inevitable times of both tragedy and
triumph that await just beyond the horizon…
For all those who celebrate this day as their New Year –
happy 2017 – and for absolutely everyone – let’s build!
