Why Do You Care?

Dear Friends,

September is a month of shedding in the Northern Hemisphere. There is a grief in the slipping away of summer—the sunshine, the abundance, the long days—and also a relief. A transition rarely surfaces one feeling, it is usually so many, which is perhaps why times of transition come with a sense of disorientation.

For UVE, and for us in Fort Bidwell, September was especially full of contrast and transition this year. There was the joy of community coming together for school and sports for the kids, a visit from Savory Hub leaders in Germany, the comfort and happiness of reuniting in person for our UVE business planning retreat in John Day, Oregon, and there was the terror of the Barnes Fire bearing down on Fort Bidwell (the fire is out now, and we are all safe). 

For me personally, September is the month of my first baby’s birthday, and this year is a year of big transitions for her too. She isn’t someone to go through life in any small way, so we are feeling all the big feelings (because if she’s feeling it, rest assured the others in the house are feeling it too), and I am doing my best to be there for her and guide her—while feeling utterly unprepared. There is the grief we both feel for one phase of life ending, and the wonder and excitement of a new phase beginning.

If anyone is curious about what working with or managing complexity is like, parenting a pre-teen is a great learning experience. 

In this time of transition, of planned and unplanned disturbance (which always brings about new growth), I feel this urge to collect and store, to weave together, and recognize the patterns of what is emerging. The work I feel called to do is to prepare the house, gather around the table, and together create the story of our new shared reality. This narrative of what has died, what new life is appearing, and how we get through it, is a story that will define us. It will help us make sense of our world, and our role in it.

This work is happening on a family level, within our own organization, at a community level, regionally and globally. I see it happening in all those places, on all those scales of impact through my work to be a mother, to be a community member, to hold and guide UVE, to coordinate and nurture the Savory Global Network.

What I offer to you, my friends, from this journey through transition and disturbance is the realization that getting through, making it, surviving and thriving, is done by being fully human. 

This is what I am reading from the experts, what I am seeing, what I am learning about healing trauma, about the courage it takes to let something die, and prepare for new life in its place. Being fully human means to me, being fully myself and giving others the permission to be their full selves (even when it is really messy)—connecting with and liberating our desires, then expressing them through work and art. It means connecting with others by listening completely to them, through seeing them. We need good food, enough sleep, loving embrace, and space to share who we are. We need others to show up for us, and we need to show up for others. We know how to do this. Realizing that we already have the tools and knowledge to face and process all this change brings me hope.

I am in awe at the simple and powerful art of listening to the stories of others, and the impact it has had on our community. I am working on a project with UVE that includes interviewing tribal members and leaders of the Gitutikad Band of Northern Paiute people. These are my neighbors and friends. They are the parents of my son's and daughter’s best friends.

It matters, they say, that I am “crossing the bridge.” There is literally a bridge right before one entrance to the reservation. Most people “downtown” don’t cross that bridge. One of my interviewees said it best. Several other interviews with tribal members ended this way too, with this question: Why do you care?

She said: Why do you care? Why do you want to make the community better? You bring this good energy, and don’t know what you are coming into. How do you want to do so much, and not know the community? Why are you coming in all happy? We didn’t have people from downtown coming up, and trying to do stuff with us in the past. There was not a desire to collaborate. There is a different feel now. People were scared to come to the rez. But there is a different type of people coming in now. I grew up thinking downtown didn’t like us, that there was a line there. 

I didn’t know how to put into words why I care. But I do. I care deeply. And it isn’t just me. I live here and my caring makes sense. But my partners in UVE care deeply as well.

So she and I  just sat and cried together because it was all too big for language. And that is when I realized that the way we get through this is by being fully human, together. It is the only way we will make it. The challenges and the pain are too big for one person alone.

And how powerful caring can be! It is a force that is bringing down walls, erasing lines, crossing bridges. 

My friends, why do you care? And are you letting that powerful force do its work in the world?

I wish you courage and strength as you do your big work.

Take Care,

Abbey