10. Body of work

09.11.18

 We have been tasked with using biodynamic methods on our herbal garden plots at the RBGE. I don’t know whether this is new to me or not, in that there’s a real cross-over here between the kind of old gardening wisdom I’d hear from my Uncle Ken, my Dad, and their compatriots, and the information contained in texts on the biodynamic method. Originally attributed to Rudolf Steiner (1861-1925), the biodynamic method is being increasingly granted scientific foundation by formal knowledge gains in both astronomy and horticulture.

In that sense, and to indulge in a little old skool sexism, biodynamic horticulture seems to be the masculine equivalent of herbalism, where much historically intuitive, tried and tested, mostly female folk wisdom is now being validated (and appropriated) by the scientific academy.

So whilst it seems, from our historical perspective, that much lay wisdom is now being validated by scientific findings, the inter-relationship is complex. 

For example, we in the West are not alone in inheriting a rich folk relationship with our biome. Consequently, we must also consider the Western-centricity of what we currently accept (and do not accept) as biodynamically, or herbally valid. It may be that some of the considerations found in the East are simply not relevant to our climatic conditions, or it may be that so many of our equivalent forms of understanding have been lost or destroyed (by a couple of centuries of vicious witch-hunting, for example, or by the practical restrictions imposed by early transcription and printing methods).

Either way, many of us — particularly city dwellers — have become increasingly detached from the planet on which we live. On a daily basis, how many of us touch the bare earth, with either hands or feet? How many of us can decode and predict the increasingly erratic patterns of birds and weather? How many of us even feel we have the time?

Recognizing the decline of earth-centredness in my own daily routines across my 50+ year life span, I decided to begin my biodynamic gardening practice by re-attuning myself to my planetary environment.

And for that, I have found myself looking Eastward.

The Ashtanga yoga tradition seemed to offer the best option since, like biodynamic gardening,  its practice is specifically tuned to moon days. The website ashtangayogacenter.com explains the connection thus:

Both full and new moon days are observed as yoga holidays in the Ashtanga Yoga tradition.

Like all things of a watery nature (human beings are about 70% water), we are affected by the phases of the moon. The phases of the moon are determined by the moon’s relative position to the sun. Full moons occur when they are in opposition and new moons when they are in conjunction. Both sun and moon exert a gravitational pull on the earth. Their relative positions create different energetic experiences that can be compared to the breath cycle. The full moon energy corresponds to the end of inhalation when the force of prana is greatest. This is an expansive, upward moving force that makes us feel energetic and emotional, but not well grounded. The Upanishads state that the main prana lives in the head. During the full moon we tend to be more headstrong.

The new moon energy corresponds to the end of exhalation when the force of apana is greatest. Apana is a contracting, downward moving force that makes us feel calm and grounded, but dense and disinclined towards physical exertion.

The Farmers Almanac recommends planting seeds at the new moon when the rooting force is strongest and transplanting at the full moon when the flowering force is strongest. Practicing Ashtanga Yoga over time makes us more attuned to natural cycles. Observing moon days is one way to recognize and honor the rhythms of nature so we can live in greater harmony with it 

I took my first class on the Monday immediately preceding the new moon (on Wednesday November 7th, 2018), rested on the moon day, and practiced again the following Monday. 

So far, the endorphin boost from the exercise itself is feeling great. I’ll need to take quite a few more classes before I’m familiar with the Primary Series 1 (beginner’s) sequence, and complete a few monthly cycles before I can begin to feel more attuned. So I’m off now to book my next class, and I’ll keep you posted….

9. Full and earthy

25.10.18

I didn’t think I would see her. 

On the night, in the heart of Edinburgh, she was smeared in dark cloud, though just the promise of her radiance was entrancing enough. It was the following day’s early start that allowed me to encounter her, slightly bleary after her night’s work, but still hanging huge over the city’s Athenian skyline. ‘She’ is the full moon at the apogee of this fortuitous lunar cycle: the Hunter’s moon.

Artemis. Daughter of Zeus and Leto, sister to Apollo, goddess of the hunt, and of wild animals, wilderness, childbirth and virginity.

She seems to have been making her presence felt in all sorts of ways this week.

On Tuesday, we were given the benefit of the teachings of Duncan Ross, the biodynamic herbsman at the heart of the Poyntzfield Nursery up on the Black Isle. We were treated to an ident. parade of some of the healthiest and most vibrant plant specimens I’ve seen. Amongst them Artemisia dracunculus(tarragon), known for its ‘abilities to influence brain function and gastrointestinal function and the presence of antimicrobial activity’*.

In the afternoon, after the gale force wind miraculously calmed, we were led out into the gardens to meet our plots; the small areas of earth that will be ours for the next nine months, and upon whose design, fertility, and maintenance we will ultimately be assessed.

‘Plot‘, however, is too bleak a description. These small gardens have been carefully tended by our predecessors, and boast a plethora of fine and interesting annuals and perennials, many still in flower after the long sultry summer. Our task was to ‘clear’.

It was actually quite difficult. I found it hard to clear plants that still seemed to have a little something to give, and even harder to decide what to confine to compost and what might be useful to my emerging theme. Having just ‘met’ my garden, I wanted to spend time slowly getting to know her. Perhaps drawing and photographing her, sitting with her a while, but time is impatient and we were compelled to push on with the work in the few hours available to us. 

Can I blame my uncertainty on the waxing of the moon? On the whirling of the wind? On fear of incurring the wrath of Artemis by ravaging one of her own?

I dithered. I resisted. I flapped. I panicked. I observed. I considered. I learned. Only latterly did I begin to clear. And in the earth began to find solidity, comfort, ‘grounding’. 

Artemis, the goddess of childbirth and also virginity. 

Waxing in Taurus on the 24th October 2018, this moon brings an end to uncertainty, ushering in stability, and revealing endings as pathways to beginnings.

I’ll be back in the garden this weekend, making a slow and gradual transition, helping the plot revert to its virgin state, ending and beginning.

 *Aglarova, A.M., Zilfikarov, I.N. & Severtseva, O.V. ‘Biological characteristics and useful properties of tarragon (Artemisia dracunculus L.) (review) in Pharmaceutical Chemistry Journal (2008) 42:81.

https://doi.org/10.1007/s11094-008-0064-3

6. Money talks (dirty cash I need you)

23.09.18

I am severely overdrawn, and living in the margin between a meagre income and the bank’s overdraft limit. 

There has been little work over the summer, and much expenditure. Both children have needed to borrow money, and there have been upfront costs for the youngest’s imminent start at University.

And I have course fees to pay. 

After a degree, two Masters, and a PhD, this is only the second time in my life that I have paid for my education. Of course, I haven’t budgeted carefully for it and have to turn to my ex-mechanic octogenarian Dad for support. He is as generous as he has always been.

I know I have a problem with money. I have never liked it. It is the root of all evil. As a former economics student, I have always understood that the basic conceit of money — whilst convenient — is a prime building block for a society based on exploitation. A capitalist society, that is. Of course, capitalism in its early stages brings many benefits, but the rampant free market end-stage capitalism of our lives is another beast entirely. At some profound level, I refuse to partake in money’s destruction of our values, our communities, our planet. And, like a slighted lover, it therefore refuses to acknowledge me.

When I first encountered the deaf community, stumbling across it as a fresh graduate, it felt like socialist nirvana. Here was a society of people immunized from the worst effects of capitalist consumption through their marginalization. Capitalism simply couldn’t communicate with them. In its stead, they had forged a close-knit, non-hierarchical society founded on principles of fairness, openness and reciprocity. I loved it.

As part of the first wave of the professionalization of sign language interpreting, and campaigns for the recognition of sign languages, I now have to admit to my part in corrupting the deaf utopia I had discovered. Yet perhaps it was inevitable that capitalism would have found its way — the cochlear implantation industry alone is worth millions — and that a community hitherto starved of the market’s blandishments would rush to embrace it wholeheartedly.

It is karmic then, that the bottom is now falling out of sign language interpreting. This once community-oriented people-friendly practice has become a shark pool of agencies competing for contracts, and of interpreters increasingly forced to provide remote services, working to screens. The profession is being hollowed out.

I still love the deaf community with all my heart — I could never leave it — and will be forever grateful for the magic it has brought into my life, but I can’t stomach this form of interpreting. As opportunities for real, meaningful, warm work dwindle, my refusal to adapt to working for money, not love, leaves me a dinosaur in my own field. 

The writing is on the wall.