Poplar - theHumm June 2020

By Susie Osler

A Poplar round supports my weight. Its dying body lies here, sprawling in pieces around me. Rings of honey-coloured carbon circle in around dark, decaying heartwood that Woodpeckers have already begun to investigate in search of larvae. We sit here together, Poplar and I, on the tenuous, thin layer of unfolding life that is happening between our bodies and the eons of sand lying beneath us.

An accumulation of debris has fallen over decades — an offering to the Earth from the sanctuary of other Poplars around us. Leaf litter, twigs, branches and other detritus have ever-so-gradually collapsed into a matrix of humus, creating a home for the intertwining lives and deaths of microscopic beings that inhabit this little patch of place.

35 years ago you, Poplar, saw potential in what was an empty and exhausted bit of sand between plantation and slope, where after a century-and-a-half of human affronts — logging, extraction and over-grazing, the holy trinity of traumatic tactics inherited from the old country — nothing further remained for us to take. Seizing your moment, you settled in, quietly yet tenaciously holding ground through the conditions that icy winters and droughty summers posed, and slowly surrounded yourself with community.

35 years later, what I sense while sitting here with you still speaks of disruption, in spite of the sheltering presence the grove of you has created. There is a weariness and clutter to the surrounding space that feels incoherent. The debris left by those branches felled by ice, plagues of caterpillars, wind, or my human efforts to “tidy up” your diseased kin on this knoll is unsettling me. It feels like something coming undone.

I’d rather not sense the struggle here that the land presents to me — the death, the disease, the damaged — the litany of small and large traumas that pile up like memories around my feet on this patch of sand and decay. My impulse is to sidle home to the cushions and comfort of the fireside — the regularity and security of those domestic walls — and never return. Or to seek a spot somewhere else on this land that feels less of a slight to my senses. Or, were it possible, to just find finer horizons to belong to; to fill the almost imperceptible but ever-present longing for something else — something without the shadows, the baggage, the discontent. Something instead less burdened and more beautiful, more vibrant, healing, exciting. I’ve seen it on Instagram. Surely such a place exists?

But in the midst of such flights-of-fancy, I can’t help but be irritated by the presence of a subtle yet niggling “moral-monkey-mind” which reminds me that such escapes simply measure up to something akin to abandonment.

How to resist the temptation to turn away, and instead turn more patiently and tenderly towards all that is here, in front of me (or is it within me?), right now, with a clear, steady and loving gaze? I grapple with the felt sense of suffering this place holds — an ache that echoes in my bones. Grief surfaces and perhaps even guilt, especially when, occasionally, trails of causal breadcrumbs lead back to my own door. What troubles, dear Poplar, need to be tended?

As a global pandemic washes over the planet, I think of the billions grappling with the challenges of isolation and staying put. Fear, hardship and very real trauma are being experienced in the face of illness, death and great uncertainty. The world seems to be experiencing an epic pause. I can hear the Earth sighing. It feels like a global reckoning may have landed on our collective doorstep.

After more than two months into self-isolation it seems as though many of us are getting a taste of what it’s like to stay in — and with — place. Travel plans, socializing, unnecessary movement anywhere has been prohibited. Our lives have stilled and become confined to more humbling boundaries than many of us are used to. There is no longer anywhere to run — except perhaps down virtual rabbit holes! Conversations about staying put, slowing down, simplifying our lives and just being, rather than doing more, are getting a lot of airtime for a change. We are now beginning to sense the resilience, discipline and endurance — as well as the spirit, heart and generosity — that will be required to see us through to the proverbial “New Normal”. Can we begin to imagine what that New Normal might look like?

They say that every challenge presents an opportunity. And while studying the leaf litter around my feet, I see the tiniest shoot of green poking out of the duff. I wonder if what is being offered in these surreal times is an opportunity to be “composted” ourselves! Perhaps old worn skins and structures that are past their prime need surrendering in order for a novel reconstitution to arise that better supports life for all. Perhaps too, in the shadowy unraveling of these times, we will find the space and the courage to listen closely to the murmurings of the Earth and to glean some wisdom from her that will inspire the journey to come.

The Poplar says “Stay put”. The Poplar says “Look into my heart. I am dissolving. But already I am nourishing the birds”.

Where to Find the June Humm - theHumm June 2020

We’re heading out to deliver the June issue of theHumm! Because things have changed a wee bit since the last time we did our distribution, here’s a list of the places we will be trying to deliver to. Hours and more information can be found at the links. Happy Humm hunting!

Almonte:

Dandelion Foods dandelionfoods.ca

Don’s Meat Market donsmeatmarke......

Poplar - theHumm June 2020