The last plant to bloom in our garden is the toad lily, which has monstrous little purple flowers that are good for Halloween. According to Wikipedia, the toad lily -- also known as the hairy toad lily -- is native to Japan, where it can be found 'growing on shaded rocky cliffs and stream banks.'
Sometimes I wonder if the plants in our garden are disappointed when they realize that they've ended up in a trough at the back of an urban garden, thousands of miles from their native habitat. Some of them are probably aghast, but maybe others don't mind. What choice do they have? It's probably similar to how many of us about living in 2021.
A few years ago, we planted Boston ivy (Parthenocissus tricuspidata 'Fenway Park') with the hope that once established, the plant would each fall transform a bland corner of the garden into a vibrant wall of red. This year, a few (as in two or three) leaves turned red, but most skipped from the plant's trademark chartreuse (which is very pretty) to yellow and brown, which means we'll have to keep hoping.
I've been reading a lot about compromise in the context of the infrastructure bill, which is getting whittled away in negotiations (specifically the less atrocious one that progressives are working to get passed with the more atrocious one for fossil fuel and highways). I understand that compromise is inevitable -- as the President keeps saying 'nobody gets everything they want' etc. -- but I'm suspicious of a process that never seems to do much but maintain the status quo (or make it worse). I recently saw something in the New York Times about how Greta Thunberg has 'given up on politicians.' I didn't click through, but I did think 'same.'
I'm reading a book called Remaking Radicalism: A Grassroots Documentary Reader of the United States, 1973-2001, which documents progressive and radical organizing efforts during the rise of neoliberalism. So far I'm only done with the first part -- 'Feminist and Queer Flashpoints' -- and it's inspiring to read the words of those who were fighting against sexism, racism, and homophobia as both a principle of equality and as a means to overturn policies that unfairly punished people. The book creates a 'usable history' that feels important given how the internet, despite its archival potential, seems to obliterate anything that isn't unfolding in real time, racking up clicks and likes. But it's also dismaying to be reminded of the fact that many of the demands being made today -- for universal health care, for environmental justice, for defunding the police, for ending the carceral state, and many more -- are the same ones that were being made fifty years ago, when radical change not only seemed possible, but inevitable.
We recently watched Gunda, which is a documentary about a mother pig and her piglets (and some other farm animals). In some ways, it seems like the pigs have a decent life; they wander around in an outdoor enclosure on a farm; the piglets play with each other; the mother keeps them in line. [SPOILER ALERT] But then at the end the piglets are herded into a truck and driven away -- presumably to be slaughtered -- leaving the mother in a state of apparent agitation as she walks around the pen sniffing and pawing at things, breathing heavily.
One thing about October is that unusually warm days -- 'global warming days' -- are quite pleasant. We took the cats out to the garden in the attempt to make up for subjecting them to Gunda.
'I'm giving up on humans.' -- Elektra
The yellow and brown leaf reminded us that the old year was coming to an end, and that a new one was on the way.
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