I grew up in an arid climate, where people wasted water to maintain grass in their yards. Because a well-manicured lawn is the hallmark of the middle class—as American as pulling yourself up by your bootstraps.
As someone who grew up in a working class family in a working class neighborhood, I know how important it is to avoid being accused of “letting my yard go”. Now, I own a house in a city where it rains so much that I find myself empathizing with the wicked witch of the west. Maybe she wasn’t evil. Maybe she just couldn’t take One More Day Of Rain. Now, I find myself defining grass as a weed. According to Good Weed, Bad Weed, a weed is merely a plant out of place. Grass is growing out of control in my vegetable garden. But, I am having a terrible time digging it up. How can I uproot and discard (in this case, compost) a plant that was coveted during my childhood? Also, I would like to eat the sweet peas that I planted in that garden bed, whose stalks are currently being choked out. I realized that it is time to shift my entire perspective about my garden. Instead of blindly pulling up the plants I had decided didn’t belong, I looked for a way to balance out the grass and the sweet peas. I am trying to cultivate a different relationship to the land. One in contrast to the American dream of ownership and control; and white picket fences and perfect lawns. I sometimes joke that I am going to write a book called “The Lazy Gardener.” At my previous house, I built garden plots in my front yard because the backyard was shaded by a large beautiful tree. When it came time to plant, I was often surrounded by neighbor children, begging to help. It seemed way more important to encourage their involvement than to ensure that seeds were planted in neat rows. It was a fantastic opportunity to practice valuing relationships over perfection. And the plants grew just fine. Because nature knows how to do her thing without us. Which is really the whole point. The less I try to control things, the better. Despite the increasingly common and severe weather events related to global climate change, many of us are stubbornly clinging to the belief that we can—and should—own and control the land. That belief and the accompanying behaviors is killing the planet. This spring, I had one of my classes read the article “Decolonization is not a metaphor.” It was a tough read, but my students engaged with it deeply and openly. The authors challenge the readers to consider what it truly means to decolonize North America. To question the whole system of land ownership. For anyone raised in a settler colonial nation, it requires us to expand the bounds of our imagination. To consider new ways of being with ourselves, others, and the land. Perhaps avoiding weeding the garden can be the ultimate act of resistance. Resistance against the system of capitalism that creates poverty and shames those who live in it. Resistance against a system of capitalism that encourages us to buy, consume, control, throw away. Resistance against a system of colonization that says some people get to “own” the land and other people are “illegal.” Resistance against a system of colonization that encourages people to become disconnected from the land, from each other, from their own bodies. Adrienne Maree Brown’s book Emergent Strategy teaches us to explore methods of social change informed my processes in nature. It is poetic and brilliant and inspirational. One of the principles of emergent strategy is that small is good—small is all. The large scale is a reflection of the small scale. How I treat one blade of grass reflects how I treat all beings in the world. Imagine what could happen if we all stop weeding our gardens? Britney G Brinkman, PhD Comments are closed.
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AboutEMPOWERTAINMENT aims to take a critical look at media in regards to how gender and women/girls are portrayed. From popular articles, videos, and websites, to original submissions, we want to not only examine the media and its relation to gender, but help shift it. Archives
November 2017
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