Farm Friday, November 25th, 2022
Gratitude
On Thursday we woke up to a dense fog. The fog lingered through the afternoon and by evening all the moisture in the air had settled down on surfaces throughout the forest and formed a sparkling crust of frost. This morning on a walk my partner said “it looks like glitter!” and I took this photo.
Yesterday was the day most people in the United States celebrate Thanksgiving. We had family out to the farm for a feast, despite both of us feeling conflicted about the holiday. We like gratitude and we like gathering with family and we love delicious food. The issue is the generally accepted story of Thanksgiving and how it whitewashes the genocide of Indigenous people.
I was responsible for putting some of the food on the table — carrots, Brussels sprouts, potatoes, wild rice, and salmon. I orchestrate the food so it is all hot and ready at the same time. Everything was on the table, steaming and ready, and then we sat down. Instead of the perfunctory prayer that we usually do, we decided to read the Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Address. Four long pages of gratitude and I’m sitting there hoping our food isn’t getting too cold, while we each take a paragraph. I wish I could say that I was gracious while waiting for the words of gratitude to be done. No. But at least I didn’t say anything.
I know impatience is a sign of assumed superiority. Public impatience is a sure way to spot privilege. When it rises within me, I’d like to think I am aware enough to not show it, but that is wishful thinking. I’d like to get to a point where it doesn’t rise in me at all. I would like to have plenty of spare attention for situations that would normally trigger impatience. Not there yet.
In writing news, I did not win or place in the second dragon challenge on Vocal. I have now entered six Vocal challenges and have yet to even place. It could start to feel discouraging. I also published a story on Medium about race and my work with my school. I am continuing to try to see how my “whiteness” shows up both in my behavior and in the spaces where I live and work.
In other writing news, I am contemplating a new regular story. I would call it the “Climate Minute.” My thinking is two-fold. I spend a lot of time stressing about climate catastrophe, but the problem is overwhelming and discouraging (to say the least). I feel like I could never do enough. Any time I have written about the climate crisis, I spend a lot of time thinking and writing a long piece and that limits my output and impact. What if I limited myself to a one-minute read?
