by Vicky Talbert
My mother used to tell a story about me as a three year old, in the rocky New England field that was her much loved - and very weedy - vegetable garden. One day, at her side as she worked this garden, that always got ahead of her and, as she assured anyone who would listen, that next year would be better, I stood, holding a worm in my hands. “I love he, he loves me”, I said with delight. As she tenderly helped me put him back in his home, she told me how the worm’s work complemented ours as we grew our food in the garden. That we treat all creatures with care and respect, and work together to keep our land healthy.
Was this my first awareness of the web of life? That it can bring us joy. That we have some responsibility for our world and those who share it. That we should show love and compassion toward all beings. Who knows? Certainly, though, it was a toddler’s lesson about her role in the vast, living world around her. And part of my mother’s legacy.
I’ve carried her gift with me as I’ve tended gardens, large and tiny, in almost every place I’ve lived. Pulling back the mulch in early spring with great expectations to reveal new tender spinach leaves or garlic planted with numb fingers late last fall. Harvesting the first strawberry. Simple, annual acts of faith that bring joy and reverence!
My mother’s legacy moves beyond joy. It asks something of me. It reminds me that how I live ripples out to affect the planet and those who live here with me. As I’ve become more aware of these connections, I’m more conscious of my food choices. Does my selection contribute to a family’s poverty, a being’s suffering? Does it tax the planet unnecessarily? Are there more compassionate choices I can make and still enjoy my food? Of course, there are! John Muir reminds us,
“ Tug on anything at all and you’ll find it connected to everything else in the universe.”
By guiding me to put the worm gently back where it belonged, where it lived and worked, my wise and compassionate mother acknowledged the essence and worth of that earthworm and its contribution to our garden and the world. Could this have been the beginning of my journey - one that continues today- toward more thoughtful food choices? I’ll never know, but the words of Alicia Carpenter ring deep within me as I look with awe at that tiny, green shoot that will nourish me, poking its head out of the dirt.
“We celebrate the web of life, its magnitude we sing, for we can see divinity in every living thing.” Hymn 175
My mother’s relationship with her garden was bittersweet, filled with challenge and grounded in hope. I remember her, at 70, toiling in her patch, topped by a safari hat with bug net hanging down to fend off the black flies and mosquitoes that ruled her little corner along Maine’s Penobscot River. And I remember her glee at a new crop of raspberries or potatoes. Every bean, every pea was a gift! And so, too, was her enduring belief – that, next year, it will be better. I still see it that way.
“But in the mud and scum of things,
There alway, alway something sings”
---Ralph Waldo Emerson
Photo: Sweet lil bunny
NOTE: Vicky Talbert is a member of UU Ministry for Earth and is our representative to the UUA on the issue of Ethical Eating. She is a member of the Bradford Community Church Unitarian Universalist in Wisconsin.
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