Shelter in Place, San Francisco, February 15, 2021
Without the acacia tree smack dab in the middle, our garden takes on a new perspective and scale, the dominance shifts elsewhere, new vistas bring delight. In particular, I’m enjoying the full width of the neighbor’s magnolia, not even visible before, now anchor and backdrop to our view. In full bloom at the moment of its reveal, this early bird’s bright pink and purple flowers reach towards us across the fence, welcome harbingers of spring.
We are just a few weeks from our second COVID shots and a few weeks more from relative freedom, we hope. Of course, we can’t discount possible hiccups in the timing and gaps in our protection from mutations of the disease. But, in theory, at least, we will have more options in the people we see and the things we can do this spring.
I thought I’d miss the giant tree that filled our yard, but I don’t. Its removal promises new gardening opportunities and a very different point of view. I welcome the change and challenge. I expect that I will miss some things about the time we’ve sheltered here together, too. But I expect and hope that as John and I reenter the world, we’ll do so with an even greater appreciation for the preciousness of all we have and see.
Day 325: The Choices We Make
Shelter in Place, San Francisco, February 11, 2021
“I’m never an advocate of eliminating trees,” said the man who came to cut ours down. As his crew began their work, I thought about that irony and of the contradictions in my own life and heart. I donate to a local organization called Friends of the Urban Forest, an organization responsible for planting saplings in every available space along San Francisco’s streets. Yet here I am, removing at great trouble and expense an ample and mature tree in my own back yard because it is out of scale and blocks our sun. Consequences for the neighborhood and for the earth are afterthoughts as I watch them lower the branches to the ground.
In today’s New York Times, an editorial captures exactly the dilemma we all face in matching our beliefs to our actions, in choosing the greater good over our own interest and convenience. The article, in fact, is about California and I recognize my own neighborhood in its examples - how every window proudly bears a Black Lives Matters sign while the neighborhood ferociously fights any effort to build housing that might be affordable enough to equalize the playing field; how political pressure drove the school board’s recent vote to change the names of the city’s schools, pressure from whites who choose to send there kids to private schools.
While, branch by brach, our tree was cut and lowered to the ground yesterday, I sat transfixed by the impeachment trial on television as the litigators walked the nation step by step through the horrific lies actions by our former president and by his inspired and manipulated mob. ‘How could anyone not convict?’ I ask myself, ‘what has this country become?’ The answer seems to be that some senators have found a way to look the other way, to value their own futures over ours, to vote out of fear or self-interest, or both. Can I really be so outraged? Don’t we all make choices that we know in our hearts are detrimental to the greater good? Looking out my window this morning at a vista much improved, I cannot forgive the cowardice of the choice these senators are making, but maybe I can try in some small way to understand.
Day 320: Ambivalence
Shelter in Place, San Francisco, February 6, 2021
From our deck, the large acacia tree (in the background here) blocks not only much needed sun but our view to the back of the garden. We’ve been talking about bringing it down for years. Finally, this is the week that it happens. Already I’m almost looking at the tree with nostalgia. Will I miss it when it’s gone and irreplaceable? Next to surface will be my ambivalence about change - any change - and the realization that the empty space will need to be filled and things that have flourished in the tree's shade will need to be relocated. The relief of having finally acted to bring sunshine to the garden will be replaced with my anticipation - good and bad - of the work ahead. There is lots to do.
And this reminds me, of course, of the ambivalence expressed by every friend who has managed so far to get their first vaccine shot - an ambivalence I expect to feel after I get mine this afternoon. It is, of course, the first step toward something different - something freer, but quickly comes the realization that the shot itself changes nothing. We must wait for the second one, and for several weeks after that, and then for everybody else to get their shots, and so forth. I have made great effort in these past few months not to assume that any of these steps will make life go back to “normal”. There are too many variables, too many mutations, too many other problems we need to solve. I don’t want to be disappointed. But it’s hard not to think ahead to all the things we might soon be able to do. Simple things, the work and life suspended - going to the dentist, getting a mammogram, going to the farmers’ market, driving down the road, at least, to visit other vaccinated friends. Maybe family, too, some day. Will these things really come to pass? And will I feel ambivalence about returning to the ‘business’ of everyday life as much as I’ve complained about being stuck at home?
Our garden will look new and different when the tree is cut down, there’s no doubt. But how long it will take us to get used to the change and how much work lies ahead as we adjust to the sudden open space and sunshine? We’ll only know when they haul the logs away.