We have lived in our first spring here on this north Atlantic island. Proper summer opens for business on June 20 this year, a square 10 days from now. COVID closed our beaches but now they are open for strolling. The light of new June through the leaves is a glowing lime green.

We live outdoors more and more as the days warm. Grilling dinner, inescapably losing at least one sweet potato wedge or drip of cheese through the grates. Sitting in the Forget-Me-Nots. Learning how to smell the “fallers” and not to pick the fallers. Learning to give the bumble bees space so they can do their important work, and keep their stingers where nature intended. Mostly me learning not to yell and jump when meeting daily spiders. Enchanted forest yards come populated with enchanted forest insects. Ember is unafraid. I hope she learns to respect but not to fear the many legged woodsfolk out there. I’m a lost cause, I suspect. But I’m polishing my acting skills in the name of leading-by-example. 

I spend the majority of my indoor time with Ember in the sunroom. Skylights are a thing I thought everyone outside the ’80s could and should live without. They’re dated and strange and it’s true what they say about eventual leaks, as we replaced almost all of them due to their quiet admission of rainwater last summer. But the light. I might never again be able to thrive under a solid roof. I’ve become like the plants through all this glass, photosynthetic, leaning towards the filtered backyard sunlight, venturing to the interior of the house for human necessities, a glass of water, a dish of organic fruit, a dry diaper, and then returning to the blaze of the sunroom. 

I know that this is a month, a year, a fold in history that Ember’s children will study in textbooks. First COVID, and now our collective question of the parameters of racism. 

Shaky ground we’re on, isn’t it? Those who speak are wrong and presumptuous and bare to be stoned. Those who don’t are silent thus violent. What yesterday was commended today is mocked. Everyone wants to do better, do right, do more, but the target slides around the wall. 

I cannot say much that hasn’t been said better, stronger, with more research and more conviction already. I will only say here what I will say to Ember when she grows curious enough to ask me.

A lot of good is being done. A lot of questions are demanding answers. I know I’ve challenged a lot of what I knew to be truth. Done a lot of new reading. New appreciating. New listening. When I read something I don’t agree with I seek out voices to tell me a different way. Tell me more. I want to hear all of the whys. Especially when I might not agree. How can we claim to believe one or the other thing without having visited each? Tasted the food? Stayed a while? Listening to someone whose stance is far from yours is some of the biggest and best learning. Even if you still don’t agree. Listen. Understand. Ask questions. 

As with all revolution of hearts and minds, there is also a lot of not so good. A lot of acid. Voices shout from across the axis and the true heart of revolution perches someplace along it. History runs on a loop in the great world’s theater. History of the Civil Rights Movement was my major in college. There is an undeniable reverberation. Old ghosts in new clothes. Read about Freedom Summer. So much has changed. So much has stayed the same. 

I had to take a long step back from Instagram this past week. Love to all of you who sent me DMs checking in. I’m good. I’m just listening. The way I see it, there is room for listeners, and there is room for stormers. 

That’s my bell. 

Let’s be curious, and kind. We recite that each morning here in this house. And now, we are off to toss rocks. High tide is on the way. Talk again soon.