“I have my litany of frustrations, as everyone does, but ultimately I try to be hopeful because I don’t see any decent alternative.  I want to believe we can turn things around.  It would be cynical to give up on life and turn our backs on the kids:  Cynicism is irresponsible.  And having hope is a much more healthy way to live.  I think of hope as a design decision.”

-Barbara Kingsolver

I found the above quote (somewhere?) many years ago, shortly after “the events of 9/11″ as they say.  I typed it up, made copies and stuck one on my office wall and tucked one into my wallet right there next to the red Chinese New Years envelop that was a gift (filled with a Starbucks card) from my friend Big Dave.  These scraps of paper, mixed in with receipts, credit cards, my library card and various other “you’re-a-member” cards are precious talismans to me.  As I search for my Costco card, trying to calm my nerves from the hell-that-is-the-Costco-parking lot, I come across the bright red envelop or the Kingsolver quote… and breathe.  The paper has become so worn it feels felted; smudged with dirt and lipstick, creased and torn from the nearly 7 years it has accompanied me.

I love Barbara Kingsolver.  Yes, her book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle is compelling in a way that has changed many lives, my own included.  But it’s her 1995 book of essays, entitled High Tide in Tucson that I found transformative.  Especially the essay by the same title as the collection, about a little hermit crab that hitched a ride in a shell collected on a beach vacation in the Bahamas all the way to a house in the middle of the desert in Arizona. 

With the gift of a storyteller and the sensitivity of a naturalist, Kingsolver tells the tale of her daughter discovering the crab–”EEEEEK”–and how, together, they make a home for the poor creature so far from it’s native habitat.   A revolving wardrobe of shells is offered as is a roomy terrarium - even a name, Buster.  I won’t spoil how it turns out, or what became of Buster, but this simple essay opened my eyes to the connectedness - across miles, habitat and even understanding - of all living creatures.  I can just hear my kids, “you are SUCH a NERD, Mom.”

Anyway, Kingsolver has been a hero of mine ever sense and her sentiments on hope struck a deep chord with me.  Too often, we are accused of being naïve, or unsophisticated when we express hope.  Hope is often mistaken for “wishing” and “desire”, as in “I wish for success, or enough money…or for someone to come clean my house!”  Hope is something other, an attitude, an outlook… “hope is a design decision”…I love that.  Not passive wishing, or covetous wanting, but a deliberate decision to approach the world from a certain perspective.

We hear a lot about hope these days, in the news, campaign materials, and fevered rhetoric 24/7.  What if we deliberately made the decision to hope?  To open our eyes to our need for community, support and relationships, and acknowledged our connectedness across miles, habitat and even understanding?   Yeah, yeah, yeah…it’s getting thick in here; but what if?

It’s like the hours I spend down on my muddy knees planting bulbs each fall.  I always put it off until the rains begin, not for any reason other than bulb planting is not one of my favorite garden chores and I always put it off as late as I can.  Digging in cold, wet dirt to bury very unpromising-looking nuggets of vegetable matter in the HOPE that they will blossom into lovely, colorful, often fragrant bloom in 4 to 5 months time is something I know to be true.  Just as I know that those bulbs which remain on the potting bench withering in their paper bags will most certainly, not bloom.

I’ve planted a few bulbs so far this season, early for me!  But dozens more are waiting for me to get out there and get busy.  But first, I have to finish my manuscript - it’s crunch time ’round here, and truth be told, why I wish someone would come clean my house; I’m definitely not attending to such matters.  No, I’m caught up in cured meats, pickles, drip cheeses, and herbal libations.  The other night I dreamt about salted lemons!  But the beginning of November is almost here.  Hope is a design decision.  I know I’ll get the book done, the bulbs buried, the floors swept, but most of all I wish for…desire…yearn for and crave a collective spirit of hope.

Am I in heaven?  No, Paradise.  The night is dark, the moon has yet to show it’s face.  I don’t even know what time it is–10?…  Midnight?… probably closer to 7:30; this is country-time.  I’m waiting for my bath - yes my bath - to cool.  With a gooey bowl of carrot cake for sustenance, tonight  I shall bathe in paradise by lantern light.  Night creatures are chirping and moths are bombing my laptop  screen–eewwwwww.  But remember, Paradise had snakes.

I’m on a tiny wooden deck that cantilevers over a woodland clearing, attached to a tiny aluminum shed (complete with slamming screen door) that serves as a stitching studio.  Out here, giant pines loom overhead, and thickets of wild roses carpet the undergrowth.  Indoors, the floor is pink, the walls creamy white, laddered with shelves holding all manner of fabrics, spools of colorful thread, scraps of tatting , embroidery samplers, lace and all sorts of very feminine ephemera.  Again, am I in heaven? 

On the deck is an old, green painted bench - my luggage rack. Nestled beneath a hedge laden with autumn rose hips,  an old cast iron tub is filled with water from the hose and has been heating over a propane burner for the past two hours–a sublime use of a turkey fryer if you ask me.  I’ve been cautioned that the bottom of the tub might be hot from the burner beneath it - rather like a stock pot on a stove top - and shortly, I intend to be soup!  Apparently one should test carefully; if I showed up with a blistered backside I might have some explaining to do when — and if— I return to the big city.

I’m trying to decide whether or not to light a campfire in my fire bowl, just to the side of the tub.  It seems excessive… critters trilling, lantern light, outdoor tub and carrot cake should be enough, don’t ya think?  But on the other hand when will I next find myself in heaven…or paradise?  I know I plan to light the candlelit chandelier that hangs from a pole protruding from my outdoor sleeping inglenook… Oh, didn’t I mention that?  My bed, my single, sweet, fluffy, white-down-comforted bed is tucked to one side of the deck beneath a shallow, shingled overhang.  Enclosed on three sides it is open to the north, and the sky, the critters, the lantern and…

Earlier this afternoon, I took a little nap only to awake in a puddle of late afternoon sun.  Groggy, relaxed, languid…this must be heaven - no paradise.  We’ll see how the rest of the night goes.  Rabbits are skittering in the trees…I’m telling myself they’re rabbits, that’s my story–I’m sticking to it.  They said the coyotes were out last night, yipping and yelping and doing their screaming coyote thing.  Moose routinely come through here..deer, and elk.  Mostly I’m just glad the yellow jackets have abated along with the heat of the day.

And now, a bath, cake and so to bed.

(I really did write this by lantern-light a couple of weeks ago on my Eastern Washington and Idaho road trip.  It seems a long time ago now.  These days I’m locked in my office, surrounded by resources, pegging away at the final draft of my preserving book and trying not to listen to the sound of the economy crashing around me. 

Two self-employeed artists with one kid in college and another just graduating from high school–and looking at colleges… these are not comfortable times.  And we’re the lucky ones!  No one can take our jobs, we drive old-really, really old, cars, and you can hardly say our nest egg is in danger.  Actually, our nest egg is more “nest” than egg, as we live in it.  We have lived our adult lives (and by definition, those of our children,) investing in our present, pursuing daily goals and dreams, and yes, paying a price at times.  That’s not to say we’re the irresponsible grasshopper of the cautionary fable.  There’s plenty we choose to go without–see old cars above–and we’ve earned our fair share of anxious moments, but how else can we do what we do?

In the end, I think we’re satisfied with our choices.  I know I wouldn’t change much, its been a rich ride, and one that allows me magical trips to Moscow, Idaho.  I’ll write more when I finish my oh-so-looming manuscript.  In the meantime a heartfelt THANK YOU to Mary Jane Butters, Nick, Carol, Brian, Katie and everyone at Paradise Farm.  I was touched by your warm hospitality and generous spirit…not to mention the delicious carrot cake!!!)