Word Number 2: Trumspringa

Part 1: Between Living and Dreaming

Seeing the World as it is, and as it could be

Definition

n. the longing to wander off your career track in pursuit of a simple life—tending a small farm in a forest clearing, keeping a lighthouse on a secluded atoll, or becoming a shepherd in the mountains—which is just the kind of hypnotic diversion that allows your thoughts to make a break for it and wander back to their cubicles in the city.

German Stadtzentrum, “city center” + Pennsylvania German Rumspringa, “hopping around.” Rumspringa is a putative tradition in which Amish teens dip their toes in modernity for a while before choosing whether to commit to the traditional way of life.

"The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows” by John Koenig

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I recently finished a book that made me stop and think about living a “simple life," and why I had not craved one before. This eye-opening book is called “Braiding Sweetgrass” by Robin Wall Kimmerer. It came to me by chance, a couple of chapters assigned in some reading homework I thought about just skimming through. My first taste of the book was an essay entitled “The Honorable Harvest” which details an indigenous way of harvesting crops that has a certain set of rules very different from the normal harvesting practices in America. These rules are meant to be kind to the Earth, cultivating a healthy relationship with her in which we ask permission to take, and never more than is given back in return.

In this essay Robin is harvesting leeks, hoping to cook a childhood meal for her now adult daughters. I witness what appears to me as a tedious process of asking Mother Earth for permission to take these leeks, and don’t understand how she has the patience to receive a “not yet” as the answer. When the leeks are pulled they come out as “ragged papery sheathes where the bulbs should be.” (Kimmerer 176). She returns these leeks to the Earth and goes back empty handed. “All that work for nothing” I think to myself.

I usually get my groceries delivered these days, not even bothering to physically take myself to a place where carrots, bell peppers, tomatoes, and any other kind of vegetable, fruit, nut, etc. lays to be hastily grabbed. But this is not harvesting, the availability of artichokes regardless of the season or strawberries in the winter disconnects us completely from the soil they are grown in. These berries at the store have probably only known the touch of cold metal machinery as they are sewn, watered, harvested, washed, sorted, suffocated in plastic, shipped across the ocean, and finally placed on the shelf at a grocery store where someone might decide they look appetizing enough to buy. Or not and they will rot and be thrown away, all that work for nothing.

I started a garden this year, it is a community garden in my housing complex that requires a short walk to check on my plants. This means they go a couple days, sometimes a week without care. When finally I do muster the resolve to check on them, immediately I regret having waited so long, without needing anything from me these plants have grown inches in mere days. I push away the massive zucchini leaves, growing up instead of out due to my inexperience in knowing how large these plants actually get, and yell with delight as a zucchini so large it is practically bursting sits waiting for me to harvest. “Allen look! Come look!” I hide the vegetable in the leaves again and watch his face as carefully he also pushes the leaves out of the way. The smile that breaks across his face is vast, “Wow! We grew that!” he exclaims as I instruct him to hurry and pick it already. There were two more zucchini and that night we feasted; a friend came over to share in our harvest. Zucchini chips topped with breadcrumbs and parmesan cheese crispy from the oven. Then spiraled zucchini noodles with pork marinara sauce combined with rosemary, basil, oregano, and plenty of garlic. For dessert zucchini cake topped with a silky cinnamon cream cheese frosting.

Robin did eventually harvest some leeks, a few weeks later she returns to the site and again asks permission. But this time as she pulls the leeks from the ground out pop “a thick cluster of gleaming white bulbs, plump, slippery, and aromatic” (Kimmerer 178).

At work the last few days I have found myself daydreaming of leeks. I stare out my office window at the dirty canvas of building roofs littered with air conditioners and imagine myself far away. My eyes drift skyward, away from the grime, where the only buildings in sight are cozy looking houses, nestled into the terrain as if Mother nature herself had lovingly chosen each spot and invited them to reside within the folds of her arms. A basket hangs from my elbow, searching for leeks to use for supper. Hoping maybe I’ll get lucky and come across a blackberry bush that has not been picked clean yet to make a pie for dessert. The air around me smells of life, pine trees and wet moss, birds flit from tree to tree, their voices playful in song. I pause and kneel down to watch a snail slowly, purposefully, make its way up a mushroom. I pluck a similar one nearby and taste the milk, hoping it will be sweet and edible.

I hear a sound behind me, muffled through my headphones

“Sure is a nice day isn’t it?”

“Huh?” I say as my eyes slowly come back to focus on one of the four screens in front of me.

“You were staring out the window, it’s a nice day.” The well-intentioned coworker comments from behind.

“Oh yeah, I guess it is” I respond, as the task at hand rushes back to the front of my mind

The birds melt into digital symbols, songs into keyboard clicks.

I get back to work.

Yours,

Maxie

Next

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References

Kimmerer, Robin Wall. Braiding Sweetgrass Milkweed Editions. Kindle Edition.

Koenig, John. The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.