EARTH:

Earth Action, Reflection, Theology, and Hope

Cultivated Spaces

Writing in the “Journal of Anthropological Archaeology,” Andrew Wyatt calls the homegarden “an instrument of grace.” What is a homegarden?

“Homegardens are spaces where food, medicine, construction materials, and plants of aesthetic value are grown, both for household consumption, but also for sale in markets to supplement household income. Importantly, they are also spaces of cultural significance; gardens are spaces where many household activities are enacted, where household income is supplemented, where cultural memory is maintained.”

In this issue of EARTH, we reach far beyond the home, to spaces near our churches. our communities, and in the wilderness where grace is cultivated along with food and other essentials for our physical and spiritual well being. We also discover that sometimes, the home itself can be cultivated in a way that nourishes us and protects Mother Earth.

Enjoy this trip through homegardens far and near, and be inspired to find or create your own cultivated spaces.

Eric Diekhans
Editor

Planting Charity, Growing Justice

While living in Baltimore, PEC Steering Committee member Derrick Weston helped a “charity garden” planted over an old quarry grow into a vibrant space for justice.

The House That Lives

Curt and Cindee Karns used Google to search for a “green homes for sale in Anchorage.” They ended up buying EcoEscape, a home with no water well and no septic system that Cindee describes as bioshelter that “breathes, drinks, digests, and pees.”

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Courtenay Willcox reviews Camille Dungy’s heartfelt work that expands on how we talk about equity, diversity, and the natural world.

Words and Photos by Karla Ann Koll

At the start of the pandemic, I found myself confined to our home. On the one hand, my daily work did not change much, as the Latin American Biblical University was already teaching online. Yet on the other hand, as a theologian, I found myself without words. There was nothing I could say to ease the suffering or counter the uncertainty so many folks were experiencing.

The home where I was confined is on the eastern edge of San Jose, Costa Rica. The original owners had planted a garden with lots of love. Though the garden had not received much care in the intervening years, plants and other lifeforms grew exuberantly in the tropical climate.

The garden beckoned to me in ways I had not taken the time to notice before. I unpacked a DSLR camera I had brought back from the US several months earlier. I found a photography course online that, in addition to teaching me how to use my camera, introduced me to a new set of online friends from around the world.

With my camera in hand, I forced myself to get out of my chair and spend time each day in the garden. The resulting photographs allowed me to share the blessing of this garden with others. I had no words to share, but at least I could share one image of life and beauty each day.

Birds have fascinated me all my life, so I first turned my attention to our avian visitors. I learned their feeding schedules, so I knew when to watch for them. Our morning offering of bananas drew several species each day, especially in the dry months, when other food sources were scarce. Over the months, I cataloged the visits of 55 different species.

A Common Tody Flycatcher comes through the garden every morning looking for insects.

Blue-gray Tanagers are always present.

This Rufous-tailed Hummingbird thinks he owns the garden.

Of course, there are many more insects than birds in our garden. The camera gave me a new set of eyes to look for them. My patience grew as I stopped to follow flight patterns with my eyes and wait for a creature to alight so I could take its picture. I learned about life cycles as I returned day after day to a clutch of eggs on the underside of a leaf to see what would hatch. Each day I was able to photograph a new species was a call for celebration.

Bumblebee visiting the flowers of the Candelillo tree.

Wasp on the flower of the Silverleafed Princess Flower.

A rare visit by a Mexican Silverspot.

And plants are here as well, living their own cycles. On days when insects were not willing to pose for a photo, I was thankful that plants do not move around. One of the joys of living in a garden we did not plant is the surprise of new flowers appearing.

Angel Trumpets.

Lobster Claw Heliconia.

Fern starting to unfurl.

Though we had been living in this house for over three years when the pandemic started, I did not begin to inhabit this tiny piece of the local ecosystem until I picked up my camera. In his work on watershed discipleship, Ched Myers calls on us to ground our practice of faith in the bioregion where we live. We can only do this if we take the time to know our local ecological context. As the camera lens helped me cultivate a new way of seeing the flow of life around me, I came to understand myself more and more as part of this tiny piece of God’s creation.

In this urban context, home gardens are an important part of the biological corridors across the city. Our garden and home are part of the Maria Aguilar River watershed. My photographs have become part of citizen science efforts to document the species in this biological corridor.

My photographs cultivated connections postinI did not anticipate. I began to post a daily photograph from our garden on Facebook as a spiritual discipline to remind myself of the life and beauty around me. Unbeknownst to me, friends around the world began to look forward to my daily photographs. Only months or years later would they tell me how much my daily gift meant to them during the pandemic’s most difficult months.

I confess that I now often allow myself to get distracted, so I do not always get out into the garden with my camera, let alone post a photograph. Each time I do, I celebrate the ways the camera has taught me to see, as well as the connections that posting photographs on social media has allowed me to cultivate.

I invite folks to follow me at Karla Ann Koll on Facebook. You can write to me at kakjtb@yahoo.com.

Karla Ann Koll, a former PC(USA) mission co-worker, continues to teach mission and the history of Christianity at the Latin American Biblical University in Costa Rica. Much of her current teaching and writing focuses on eschatology in times of climate change.

olive tree love

Poetry by Nancy Corson Carter

A BLESSING

On narrow twisting roads rising up

from the coast to the Sierra de Almijara,

our little bus stopped by an olive tree

said to be over 1700 years old.

Under a canopy of silvery leaves

in a swirl of rugged bark pocked

with small cavities, her massive trunk

wound upward, exquisitely sculpted

by white limestone soil below.

It would have taken three of me to

reach around her, but nevertheless,

when given a chance,

I hugged this great tree.

Even now, I can still feel

the power of that embrace:

it’s like being breathed by

deep mothering Earth.

When our guide said little owls

live in the olive groves and sing most

happily there, I had to know more:

Eurasian Scops Owls seem to

be her most common companions,

but they winter until spring

in sub-Saharan Africa.

In late March, early April

they return on a single long flight

in family groups; they fly at night

to be safe and star-guided,

these canny birds no larger than sparrows.

Surely the olive groves welcome them,

as their flute-like mating songs soon resound!

When they nest they often choose

crannies and crevices much like

ones in this special tree.

Their dining on insects and small mammals

is a boon to herders grazing

sheep and goats in the groves

Thus learning of my olive tree and

her companions has led me

into a new world:

For some 6,000 years in this Mediterranean basin,

olive trees have provided food, medicine, and light.

I learn that my tree’s not alone in living so long:

her kindred can be fruitful for thousands of years.

For peacemakers the olives’

ability to regrow from rootstock

is a powerful symbol of

resilience and hope.

All of this is a blessing, but

the best one I’ve found

to sum it all up

comes from Psalm 128:

“May your children be like olive shoots

happy around your table.”

Nancy Corson Carter, professor emerita of humanities at Eckerd College, has published THREE poetry books, Dragon Poems The Sourdough Dream Kit, and A Green Bough: Poems for Renewal (most recent) and three poetry chapbooks. Some of her poems, drawings, and photos appear in her nonfiction book, Martha, Mary, and Jesus: Weaving Action and Contemplation in Daily Life, and in her memoir, The Never-Quite-Ending War: a WWII GI Daughter's Stories.

Fossil Fuel Divestment:

A PCUSA Timeline

Rev. Fred Milligan shares the long history of how Earth Care activities have perserved in the campaign for fossil fuel divestment by the Presbyterian Church (USA).