Beach at Watch Hill, RI
When I think of my early childhood (71 years ago), it is the physical surroundings that are most vivid, not the people. I was born and grew up near the coast of southern Rhode Island, where my first backyard was a swamp that was fed by a nearby saltwater cove. I was in walking distance of the beach, with its sand dunes, coarse beach grass, and the North Atlantic Ocean, in which I learned to swim and ride the waves. In my later childhood I lived on what had once been a farm, but most of the farm buildings had been destroyed during the 1938 hurricane. It provided me the opportunity of exploring and connecting with the land, its stone walls, bayberry and scrubby red cedars. It is not only the visual images that I have of those natural surroundings, but the smells and the experience of dampness from the early morning fog that make my childhood memories as vivid as if I had been there yesterday.
Beach Grass
Wendell Berry says that if you don’t know where you are, you don’t know who you are. It is that sense of place that contributes greatly to defining our identity. We are living in a time when each of us is beckoned to discover a personal relationship to the land and our natural surroundings. For some of us, the challenge is to participate in shaping and/or sustaining the immediate landscape that connects us with the natural world and Beach at Watch Hill, RI our rightful place in it. For others, it is daring to immerse oneself in the natural world that is accessible to them and to become intimately related. For still others, it is reflecting and recreating the memories and images of childhood, or other times in their lives, when they were most “in touch” with the natural world. For all of us, it is a time of recognizing the impact we as humans have on the planetary ecosystem and to work towards more sustainable patterns that respect the delicate balance of nature.
We live in a mobile society where “place” may be experienced as transient. How do we ground ourselves in place and time when there is no sense of permanence or personal connection? My father felt most “at home” when he was on his fishing boat, navigating by a sense of direction, currents, tides and weather that constantly amazed me. When he traveled away from his home place near the sea to visit us in the mid-west, he would become agitated and anxious until he became directionally oriented, or in his words, “get my bearings.” I believe many of us have the experience of being disoriented and disconnected to our natural surroundings. Most of the time we live in sterile, managed environments that protect us from experiencing nature. Even the gardens around our homes feature exotic plants and seldom highlight the beauty and natural association of native plants.
Commons at Songaia Cohousing
Around 1990, after 20 years of living in six different locations across the United States, as well as four years in Kenya and six years in India, I found myself longing to put my roots down, to recover a sense of place. The values I was holding was to live in an intentional community, be able to pursue a right livelihood, have shelter and to be on a plot of land that I could commune with–to appreciate, cultivate and shape in ways that the sacred quality of the landscape would become a part of who I am. I found such a place and it is called Songaia, which means “song of the living earth”. It is a cohousing community, a form of cooperative living, in which each family has its own residence but share common land and gather for some meals, work parties, dialogue and other activities that provide opportunities to share our lives together.
Cascadia Bioregion
I’ve also come to realize that a sense of place takes on a deeper meaning when the plot of land on which I live is perceived as part of a watershed or bioregion that is defined by natural features and boundaries, and has been formed over millions of years, developing intricate, weblike relationships and interdependencies along the way. It becomes even deeper when the biore- Beach Grass Commons at Songaia Cohousing gion in which I live is recognized as one of many bioregions on the continent known as North America that also define my sense of place. What would it mean to acquire an indigenous relationship to this continent, as did the Native Americans?
My ancestors came to this continent from Europe about 350 years ago. Does that make me an immigrant nine generations removed? Native Americans also immigrated from what is now Siberia 13,000 years ago. Other than the length of time in which our bloodlines have lived on this continent, why are they perceived as indigenous and I am not? Perhaps it is their intimate relationship to the land and all its inhabitants. So the question is not how long our bloodline has occupied this soil, but how intimately are we connected to it. What would it take to establish an indigenous relationship to this continent? I believe if we tap into the wondrous evolutionary story of North America we will begin to experience that intimacy in learning about the formation of the land and waterways, the comings and goings of various fauna and flora, and our own interdependency with the physical and living landscape.
Connie Barlow’s article “Goodbye Eternal Frontier” in The Ecozoic Reader, Vol.4, No.2, pp 7-11 ( www.ecozoicstudies.org/latest_issue.html ) a fascinating and beautiful introduction and invitation to learn about the story of North America. It is an exciting chapter in the unfolding Universe Story, but it has special meaning, as it is my continent, my home place. What would it mean to have the sense of connection to the fauna and flora of our continent that we are expected to have for our nation?
My Back Yard
A sense of place begins with an intimate connection with nature as it shows up in my immediate location. Yet, the intimacy can be enhanced and deepened as that location is perceived as an integral part or microcosm of a larger place that has evolved over time. The intersections that connect and re-enforce my sense of place are my immediate location in relation to the watershed, or bioregion, of which it is a part; the bioregion in relation to the continent; the continent in relation to planet earth; planet earth in relation to our Milky Way galaxy; and our galaxy in relation to the universe.
Perhaps the most challenging question that has to be addressed in discovering a sense of place is “What allows us to establish the sense of intimacy or connection with nature that fosters an indigenous relationship?” Thomas Berry describes My Back Yard this relationship as “understanding the universe as composed of subjects to be communed with, not as objects to be exploited”. David Abrams describes in depth what will be required to recover the reciprocal relationship with our world; “For it is only at the scale of our direct, sensory interactions with the land around us that we can appropriately notice and respond to the immediate needs of the living world.” Ursula Goodenough suggests ways in which an in-depth “scientific understanding of Nature can call forth appealing and abiding religious responses–an approach that can be called religious naturalism.” I have found each of these resources to be critical primers for a journey that is just beginning.
Alexander finds a pumpkin
Each of us is called to take the journey of authentically discovering their sense of place in the unfolding universe. What is the ecological niche or “fit” for humans and each of us. There are many pathways open to explore. One of the ways I have chosen is to live in a community that is exploring what is required to live in harmony with Earth. This is a real challenge, because we have so much to learn – and to unlearn. We try to involve the whole community through discussions, engagement in caring for Earth, Earth rituals and celebrations. This past year we established a kid’s garden and family garden plots to encourage greater participation in gardening.
Kids at "work" near Ft. Canby
The Songaia children are drawn to the land as if by genetic coding. They have created small stream-like diversions of our natural spring water and an outdoor structure they call Fort Canby made from branches and available building materials. They have four acres of woodland with trail and a tree house along with three acres of open meadow to explore, which they do with passion. They study the anthills and do ceremonial burials for dead birds and animals. Some of them plant, harvest and save the seeds for replanting the next year. The children have the great advantage of their identity being defined by the land and its inhabitants at an early age. Our challenge is to create a culture that sustains that sense of place for them.
The adults have a greater challenge which requires unlearning habits that have been established through years of cultural patterning. How to encourage community members to go to the garden to harvest ripe vegetables when it seems more “natural” to go to the grocery store or pick produce from the pantry shelves. Our gardens are too large and intimidating, so we are trying to make gardening user-friendly. We are creating a landscape in which the sacredness of this space becomes our heritage. This has taken the form of intimate gardens around individual homes and a Alexander finds a pumpkin Kids at “work” next near Ft. Canby peace garden, labyrinth, woodland trails, native plantings and a variety of vegetable, herbs and fruit gardens for the community. We are working at creating a sense of intimacy with the land that re-connects us in a rightful relationship, not just for our community, but as a microcosmic way of healing the planet.
Another path I have chosen is to design and co-create nature connections. In a part-time job, I work with elders in a seniors apartment complex, engaging them in propagating, planting and caring for flowers and vegetables, as well as creating a bird sanctuary and native plant garden. I also do landscape design projects. In this new vocational path, some projects are smaller in scale, like backyard terraces, water features and planting beds, while on a larger scale, a memorial healing garden by the sea in Mexico. Each is designed to provide an intimate connection with nature. Whenever possible, I encourage those who will be using the space to become involved with its creation, whether that is participating in the design, selecting and planting the plants, or even helping to move the boulders. Perhaps it is like giving birth to a child – there is that special intimacy after the months of carrying the baby, going through labor pains, and then – the ultimate joy and connection after the delivery, which is truly a sacred time. Gateway Garden by the Sea in Litibu, Mexico
Gateway Garden by the Sea in Litibu, Mexicao
Songaia's Peace Garden
In this recent pursuit of my life’s work of creating a sense of community and place, I have had the experience of “coming home.” Much of my young adult life was involved in forging a career path in the art and science of landscape horticulture, later to become focused on social action. I am now integrating these earlier experiences and learnings on a path of discovering who I am by co-creating a sense of place in the universe.
