The weekend got off to a rough start. On Friday morning, Rosellen and I got our Flu and Covid shots. By now I’ve racked up dozens and dozens of these shots with no ill effects. In fact, the absence of any reaction made me wonder if they had actually “taken.” This time there was no question. That evening my legs felt heavy and achy – an effect I had never heard mentioned before – and I experienced the more predictable chills and feverishness. By bedtime even those symptoms were gone and by morning they were already a dim memory. I know that some people suffer really severe reactions to these routine procedures which may make them question whether they’re worth the trouble, but I’m grateful for the protection they provide, if not in preventing the illnesses, but in moderating their effects.
That’s why I get so angry at the emergence of anti-vaxxer movements which discourage people from benefitting from the gifts science has brought us that protect us from scourges that have killed millions of people across the centuries. I don’t need to mention the name of the key culprit in this movement, but its existence reminds us that widespread ignorance of scientific research methods is endangering us and even worse, our children.
A few weeks ago I wrote about Happy Places in our lives. Yesterday, we had a chance to visit our favorite local spot on the Midway facing the University of Chicago Law School. Classes began this week and the temperature is dropping so we weren’t sure whether our cherished visits were still viable. We decided to give it a try because we had been spending too much time confined to our apartment, especially interacting with this cursed screen displaying what I’m typing right now. Fortunately, it was the weekend, when few students are in evidence and the sun’s rays were still strong enough to warm us even in the late afternoon hours.
I realize that this beautiful, protected spot only 7 minutes from our apartment has become more important to us than ever as our mobility and our range of exploration has diminished. Even as recently as the Covid years we were able to take advantage of the abundant Forest Preserve land in and around the city that we had never taken advantage of before, but extended walks have become more of an ordeal than a delight. The other day, I was on the phone with a friend vacationing in the North Woods of Wisconsin. I took vicarious pleasure in her descriptions of their kayaking and hiking adventures, which are now out of reach for us as our horizon narrows. That Happy Place nearby becomes more of a gift than ever.
In another recent posting, I wrote about the relationship between writing and thinking and the dangers AI presents, as it takes over more and more of our writing opportunities. In a recent op ed piece in the New York Times Joe Cruz, chair of the philosophy department at Williams College argues that speaking, especially the kind of oral discussions at the center of his seminars, are the true generators of thinking, as it occurs in real time. Professor Cruz makes a powerful and worthy point. Anyone who has had the privilege of sitting in a college class like the one he describes knows how stimulating it can be, but in our increasingly polarized environment where else in our society outside of academia are there opportunities to engage in the kind of verbal exchange that stimulates thinking?
That said, it’s important to add that it’s pointless to put writing and speaking in competition with one another. (Note that he titles his piece, “Writing Isn’t as Important as We Think,” although I know from experience that writers usually aren’t responsible for the titles their articles carry.) I always told my students that we would be engaged in four activities in my class – reading, writing, speaking and listening. They all play a critical role in creating thinking citizens. I mentioned in the earlier posting that the motto of the writing program I directed in New York was “I don’t know what I think until I see what I say.” That word “say” at the end can refer to either writing or speaking. In fact, it’s good teaching practice to engage students in discussion about an essay topic before sending them off to write about it. The discussion is a form of pre-thinking that triggers further thought when the actual writing begins. So, let’s agree to the “yes, and….” approach to this topic and ditch the competition between two friends and allies.
One more piece in this week’s pastiche. When I’m done composing this piece, I’ll be heading to our plots in the community garden to begin the process of putting them to bed in anticipation of the coming cold weather. It’s a time for looking back at this past season, which in this era of climate change isn’t really quite over yet, as well as a time once again to begin thinking about next year.
Baseball players define success as hitting their way on base even only 27 or 28 times out of a hundred. By those standards, we’ve done pretty well this year, around seven out of ten. My home runs are tomatoes which are still coming and at peak were producing faster than we could handle. Ditto for peppers. There’s a big bag of radishes still occupying our crisper. Kale, chard, basil and beans were okay but petered out too early. Lettuce was great in first planting, but didn’t take in the second round. The real strikeouts were zucchini and cucumbers which succumbed to the bugs after a very small yield.
The truth is that even if we scored at the acceptable baseball standards, the garden would be a success in my eyes. It got me out there to experience beautiful mornings and evenings when I would have sat at home and kept my body moving in ways that were life-giving. As our trainer liked to say, “Motion is lotion.”
The real challenge is looking ahead to next year. I’m one of the oldest, if not THE oldest gardener among the hundred or so in our community garden. I had a little help preparing our two beds at the beginning of the season, but after that I did all of it myself, with the exception of valuable picking and watering help Rosellen was able to provide. Can I expect to do more of the same next year, around my 88th birthday? Should I declare game over and take pleasure in past accomplishments? Should I cut back from two to one plot? Or should I continue managing two plots, as we’ve been doing for many years. Is cutting back a sign of defeat or a recognition of reality?
Fortunately, I don’t have to make those decisions until early next spring when we have to reserve our plots for the season. By that point, my body may unequivocally dictate that decision. Whichever way it goes, gardening in both rural and urban settings has enriched my life and, certainly, my diet for the last 55 years.
