PEI Food Island-- a critique from 2015

 A piece I wrote three years ago in response to the PEI gov'ts release of the document promoting PEI as the Food Island:http://www.foodislandpei.ca/docs/Food-Island-Strategic-Plan.pdf


The Food Island Partnership Strategic Plan, stacked high with a poster worthy roster of industry leaders, has not taken a visionary view of how we grow and share food on PEI. Thanks to this fundamental lack of true vision, all Islanders should be deeply concerned. After all, it is our air, soil, waters and communities which could be further degraded in the pursuit of global markets for farm and fish products with our tax payer dollars funding the venture. 

Although it contains all the important gloss and business lingo to seem progressive, the Strategic Plan has failed to be progressive in the critical arenas of true environmental stewardship and community building. The creators of the plan have grossly failed to acknowledge the current environmental and social realities which agri-business has wreaked upon our land and waters here. This is evidenced in their repeated presentation of PEI as a land of "pristine" environmental conditions perfect for basing an economy of food upon. 

Throughout its history, PEI has been recognized for its distinctive food and agricultural advantages. Celebrated as a “million acre farm” for its red fertile soil, temperate climate, clean water, and pristine environment, its generations of farmers, fishers and food processors have secured a foundation in food production and manufacturing that has fundamentally shaped the provincial economy. This activity has transformed the Island landscape into a pastoral setting recognized by tourists all over the world. 
Food Island Partnership Strategic Plan

Concerning as well is the language utilized in the section on areas of concern regarding environmental restrictions and how they limit development:

Environmental concerns related to the food industry also have an impact. Environmental regulations in a province with the highest population density in Canada adds to the cost of production. For small companies, compliance requires time and considerable resources. 
Food Island Partnership Strategic Plan 

Failure to acknowledge large scale agriculture's role in fish kills and soil degradation is not a forward thinking approach to industry renewal. Inherent in any re-configuring should be a long term plan for soil renewal, watershed improvement and a phasing out of all growing, producing and packaging practices which degrade the very resources which the Food Island plan hopes to promote and develop. 

Prince Edward Island has enjoyed widespread recognition for its unique scenic landscapes, pristine waters and clean environment, promoted through years of tourism marketing. 
Food Island Partnership Strategic Plan 

And just because the PEI Tourism Industry chooses to ignore the reality of the environmental crisis we are experiencing with our air, soil and waters here in order to promote the notion of unspoiled, purity of place that tourists desire, does not mean that this is the actual state of our environment.

Their strategic plan is designed to rely exclusively on competition within the global marketplace while acknowledging that globalization has limited the marketing and sales opportunities for small scale producers and packagers who do not or cannot play the game the way the global market and big business dictates. 

Globalization is an asset and intricate factor. It creates vital opportunities to meet the evolving food demands of the world’s emerging economies and high-growth areas, including Asia, as incomes and protein consumption rise. Successful global supply chains are being forged with partners beyond national boundaries, enhancing value but also limiting options for smaller growers and food processors who fall outside the group.  
Food Island Partnership Strategic Plan 

While paying lip service to climate change and the mass exodus of young Islanders elsewhere to find work as realities that need to be considered, the plan fails to fully recognize the driving force that globalization is in creating both of those concerns. Further, it demonstrates no real understanding of the complexities involved. It also does not consider the role large scale production of food has played in the disappearance of small family farms and the decline of rural communities. 

A truly forward thinking society would know intuitively that creating an ideal based on competition is one which is bound to create a similar world as that in which we are currently living; a world entrenched in the inequitable sharing of resources and resource development driven by greed rather than by need.


"...too often, Island stakeholders see each other as competitors rather than partners, but partnership is what is needed to rise to the challenge of global trade.What is needed is a model of “co-opetition” or compet-
itive collaboration"
Food Island Partnership Strategic Plan

Competitive collaboration is still rooted in competition and co-opetition is a strategy which relies heavily on the fundamental relationship of trust between players. Has the relationship between Island farmers and agri-business ever truly favoured the farmer? Not sure that large scale agri-business has ever proven itself trustworthy enough to make me want to shake on any deals. And who are the Island stakeholders referred to in the above quote? Are they even Islanders?

Is there room for sustainability, equality and sharing of resources in the industry proposed, government supported Food Island Partnership, or is it one which is dominated by a "cream of the crop" mentality? 

“I love the story of the Island. You can’t find a more pristine environment to grow a potato or raise a steer. The Island is an isolated wonder of nature.” 
-Chef Mark McEwan, Head Judge “Top Chef Canada,” The
Food Network, Toronto restaurateur and cookbook author. 

I certainly do not see Islanders benefiting from taking a singular approach to product or resource development such as creating a best-of PEI services or product line. Just as seed potatoes and fox farming are not standards of excellence which Islanders should aspire to return to, neither should we aspire to create an Island economy that sees the best of what we grow and produce being shipped to foreign markets. As a small Island very dependent on imports we are the perfect place to create an economy of scale that sees us growing our food and teaching each other the most healthful and economic utilization of the food resources we produce. We could both employ and teach and feed each other in the process. Growing and preparing healthful foods could become part of our curriculum from grade school upwards. Already small scale producers here are reaping the benefit of the eat local movement. So are Island consumers. The Food Island Partnership doesn't see it this way. They think all Islanders should be brand ambassadors for an export product line that they both work to produce, and promote. 

Other provinces have “buy local” programs. While successful in provinces with a large consumer base, the impact in a province with an internal marketplace of 145,000 people will be limited. What will have enormous impact occurs when 145,000 Islanders decide to become ambassadors for PEI food products. In the age of social media and the importance of credibility in marketing, it is crucial that a population demonstrate pride in, and knowledge of, its own products, in order to successfully export them.  
Food Island Partnership Strategic Plan 

Instead of being progressive, this would set the stage for us to further become a banana republic by laying the groundwork for the development of underdevelopment of both our economy and culture, too much of which has already occurred and/or is still occurring. 

"Underdevelopment is not lack of or insufficient development, as many people tend to think. It is a product or subproduct of development. Underdevelopment derives inevitably from the colonial or neo-colonial forms of economical exploitation which still imposes itself in many regions of our planet." JosuedeCastro.com
 
We are living on a food insecure Island in a very hungry world. We simply cannot afford to create a "best of" Island products for export as the Food Island Strategic Plan would like to see happen. 

"Still more deadly then severe and complete hunger is the phenomenon of chronic or partial hunger, because of its social and economical effects which silently undermine countless populations around the world." JosuedeCastro.com 

Unless, of course, built into the Food Island schema, were policies to ensure better soil and water management and to see to it that a decent percentage of the food produced remain on the Island in order to feed hungry Islanders. But the overall tone of the document does not promote this. 

One step in a new direction might be the implementation of a food surcharge as proposed by Island farmer Margie Loo.
The small surcharge could be levied on foods purchased which were not grown organically so as to to create a fund which could help encourage better soil management and reward those farmers on a sliding scale who are doing the expensive work of trying to improve soil quality while growing their crops. http://www.theguardian.pe.ca/News/Local/2015-03-07/article-4068555/Island-farmer-says-P.E.I.-needs-farm-surcharge-system/1
 
A change of consciousness is urgently needed. One that will bring about a new, more equitable reality--not a simple re-packaging of a way of being as the Food Island Partnership plan proposes. This way of farming has already contributed to the decrease in our ability to feed ourselves-- and to rural as well as environmental decline-- why continue supporting such a system? 

Setting our sights or standards higher is another starting point, but not if it is simply to make us more desirable players on the global market. The global market is the problem--not the solution. It encourages a capitalist mindset and one which further ingrains the belief that natural resources exist to be developed and that nature is something over which humans should have domination. The global market place is why we have hunger in the world, is why our soils are depleted to the point of being almost barren on our Island, is why our well water is increasingly becoming less drinkable and is why there is decline in rural communities. 

The set of beliefs which underlies our current economic system and upon which the proposed Food Island Partnership relies is the notion that once we create the best products, the bigger markets will want to do business with us and we will have a more secure economy. I don't see this as a food secure, job secure, or environmentally friendly way of doing business. This story line has been played out on the Island stage for far too many years and has served only to denude our land and rob our peoples of a way of life which once promoted a sense of community and caring. de Castro saw this same story being played out years ago in Brazil. 

"One of the best regions to observe as test ground for our theories is the sugar-producing northeast of Brazil, with its typical natural environment. The life of its soil, water, plants and even its climate has changed because of the unbalancing and untimely action of colonizers gone blind by greed, always wanting to plant more sugar cane and produce more sugar. This is why underdeveloped countries are concerned with environmental problems and pollution. They worry because the underdevelopment they find themselves in is a consequence of a kind of development which was conceived with no respect for Nature and in which Man is merely an instrument for production." JosuedeCastro.com 

Josue de Castro was a man ahead of his time. He coined the term underdevelopment based on what he was seeing happen in mid 20th century Brazil with their sugarcane plantations. He told of first realizing that hunger was a man made malady, born of economics and greed. The mangrove was where he saw men drawn like flies to shit in order to survive in a food system that was raping the land and de-culturing the peoples while it grew sugarcane to sweeten a global palate. The mangrove story is a powerful cautionary tale and one that all Islanders should pay heed to. We already are known producers of industrial potatoes for french fries for the global marketplace, and at what cost? If you think that the Food Island Partnership is a wise investment for Island taxpayers, read this, and please, re-consider. 

“In a mangrove everything is, was or will be crab, even men and mud. It was not at Sorbonne, or any other knowledgeable university, that I became aware of the phenomenon of hunger. It revealed itself before my eyes in the mangroves of Capibaribe, in the miserable neighborhoods of Recife - Afogados, Pina, Santo Amaro, Ilha do Leite. This was my university, my Sorbonne. The mud of the Recife mangroves, swarming with crabs and human beings made of crab meat, thinking and feeling like crabs.
These are amphibious creatures - living between land and water, half man, half beast. Fed in childhood with crab broth - this milk made of mud - they became foster brothers and sisters of crabs.
Soon I became aware of this curious mimicry: men resembling crabs. Crawling and flattening themselves like crabs in order to survive.
I had the impression that inhabitants of the mangrove - men and crabs born on the river banks - just sunk deeper in the mud as they grew.
This reality struck me from inside. That's how I discovered hunger.
At first I thought this was restricted to the area where I lived - the mangrove region. Then I realized that the mangroves were like a promised land in the starving scene of northeastern Brazil. They attracted men from other areas where hunger was even worse - regions of draught and sugarcane monoculture; where the sugar industry crushed men and sugarcane alike, turning everything into bagasse.
To see them act, talk, fight, live and die, was like seeing the tyrannical iron hands of hunger modeling the heroes of the greatest drama in earth - the drama of hunger.
Through the stories told by men and by following the river's course I came to know that hunger was not exclusive to mangroves. The mangroves just attracted hungry men from all over the northeast: those who came from the draught areas and those belonging to the sugar-producing zones alike. They all came to the promised land, to nestle in the mud nests built by both and witness the beautiful crab life-cycle. When I grew up and began travelling around the world I saw different landscapes and noticed that what I believed to be a unique phenomenon was actually an universal reality. That the human landscape in the mangroves repeated itself all over the world. Those characters from the mud in Recife were identical to others in countless areas plagued by hunger. That the human mud from Recife, as I had seen in my childhood, continues to tarnish our planet until today, like great black blotches of misery: the dark demographic spots of the geography of hunger. JosuedeCastro.com 

The Food Island Partnership asks how will they measure their success? 

How will success be measured? Success will be tied to the value of the food economy on Prince Edward Island: Employment and engagement in the sector, export sales of food products, economic impact of the sector and profitability and diversity of participating companies and individuals. 
Food Island Partnership Strategic Plan 

I encourage Islanders to consider what they truly want to see happen with food production on this Island. What could be our true measures of success on this Island? 

What of an ideal that raises everyone up? What if our working efforts were aimed at taking better care of ourselves, our neighbours, and our Island environment out of a sense of caring? What if we grew the food we needed to become food secure and any extra food generated from a local grass roots economy is shared elsewhere? What of a culture of sharing, and an economy of sufficiency? What of minimal, sustainable and holistic resource development instead a culture of more, bigger and better? What of a propagating a culture which by its very nature facilitated a more peaceful, successful existence encouraging everyone to fulfill a moral obligation towards creating a more habitable society in which hunger is a forgotten word and the natural world is respected. 

How many Islanders crawling on their bellies will it take before the governing elite recognize that we are not growing or sharing food equitably and sustainably? 

Jill MacCormack

* As an addendum, I will happily admit there has been some good progress made in discussions surrounding improving food security on PEI, thanks in large part to the wonderful work of the PEI Food Security Network https://peifoodsecurity.wordpress.com/. There has also been some improved creation and promotion of local food/ products in the three years since this essay was written (gladly think organic PEI oats https://heatherdale-wholesome-goods.myshopify.com/products/organic-fresh-cold-milled-oats  )  yet the underlying thought process which brought the strategic plan into being in the first place still urge a push towards production for a global market place as the best route for Islanders. I still respectfully disagree.
* Summer 2018 PEI Organic Buyers Guide
* And kudos as well to the Certified Organic Organic Producers Co-op http://organicpei.com/  for their continued excellent work.

Summertime Wharf Rats--PEI short fiction

"Ready, set...Jesus just jump, will you!" my brother Justin cajoled. "What are ya waiting for ...winter?"

My brown toes curled over the edge of the wharf as I rocked back n forth like a babe in a cradle.

"For gawd sake Caran, just jump! The next boat's gonna be coming back in before ya know it!" he yelled at me glancing out to sea.

I was thirteen and madly in love with my older brother's best friend Troy. Troy wasn't at all like my brother Justin. Justin was annoying, never brushed his teeth and thought I was a total loser. I was surprised that he even let me hang with them at all that summer. Troy, on the other hand, was super funny and he always seemed like he was thinking before he said something. And he definitely wasn't the kinda guy that would pressure you for anything, like trying to get me to jump in the run. 

"Alright, alright if it'll make you shut up Justin," I screamed, careening off the side of the wharf into the freezing water of the run; the smell of  creosote that lined the wharf racing up my nose in sharp breaths.

Once under, the salty, diesel tinged water of the northside harbour burned the back of my throat, but I didn't care. I'd done it. Justin couldn't say I'd wussed out on him in front of his friend.

I surfaced, made my way over to the rusty ladder and grabbed onto a rung coated in slippery seaweed and greying barnacles.  So what if it took me a while to work up the guts to jump? And so what if my brother and his best friend were bridge jumpers? I had wharfed it and no one could take that away from me.

"So kiddo, ya finally did it. How'd it feel?  A little rush, eh?" 

Troy sidled up to me as I bent and reached for my towel to wipe away the snot before he saw it. Troy was the same age as my brother Justin, two years older than me, and the most gorgeous guy I'd ever laid eyes on. The fact that he even knew I existed let alone wanted to know my opinion on something was more than I could fathom.

"Ya, whatever, it was no big deal after all," I said wrapping my towel around my shoulders, trying to be cool and not shiver too much.

"Well, it might have taken you a while to finally do it, but you sure made a splash." Troy chided.

Before I could answer I saw Justin walking over from where a couple of fishermen were gathered at dockside. One of them was old Gerry McGuinty, the meanest fisherman in the whole northside. He always found some way to get us kids in trouble. The summer before he had accused the boys of destroying some of his fishing gear. Came right over to our parents house and said Troy and Justin broke into his shed. That it had to be them cause they were the ones he'd seen around there on the day it happened. It wasn't them though. They'd never do something like that. But after he talked to our parents, my brother said he was mad enough to wreck something and that it served Gerry right that he got broke into. Ever since then we've all tried to steer clear of Gerry.

“Jesus Caran-- did ya not see the boat about to pull out? What were you thinking?" Justin demanded his voice shaking as he spoke.

"What do you mean? What boat? "I stammered in my confusion. 

Justin looked visibly shaken. 

"Gerry's Maiden Margaret was about to head out when you jumped!"he answered.

None of us had seen Gerry pull out. We were looking down the run for boats coming in but no one was watching for boats that might be leaving the harbour. Why would we? No one ever headed out that time of day. And besides, Justin was standing right beside me, practically pushing me in so I'd thought I was fine.


 I guess there had been some serious screaming and frantic gesturing once the boys realized that Gerry and his Maiden Margaret of the Deep was heading out with me six feet under the water's surface. I'd heard none of it. I was in underwater oblivion with the sweet sound of victory ringing fluid in my ears. Watery success was mine. I'd just passed the unspoken initiation of the run. 

"Well whatever, no big deal right?" I said to Justin while I looked up at Troy's face for reassurance and approval.

Troy winked at me smiling but Justin still looked serious.

"It would have been fine if it was anyone else but it was Gerry's boat and we all know he's gonna freak on ya. Ya know he hates seeing us swimming in the run. We're nothing but wharf rats to him!"

Just then Gerry's boat pulled over, Gerry red-faced and seething.

"What kind of a GD stunt was that young lady?" he screamed at me from dockside. 

"There's a whole Island worth of beaches and you keep jumping here like it's some prize!"

"Settle down Gerry..."Justin replied. "It was the first time she ever jumped. She wasn't meaning any harm. We were watching for boats coming in and never thought anyone would be heading out this late in the day!"

"Well it woulda been her last jump if I never heard the screaming! Yis damn well better not let it happen again...all I'd need is to have someone get killed. I'm too busy to be dealing with stunts like that!" Gerry fumed steering his boat back out into the run.

I bit onto the top of my towel where the edge was fraying from too much use. Maybe I had almost got myself killed but Justin stood up for me in front of his best friend and my crush, Troy. He defended me, and all of us wharf rats, against the crushing tightness of age. I felt proud of my accomplishment but the sting of Gerry's words made me feel as though I might cry.

"Don't worry about it Caran, and never mind him cause he forgets what it's like to be young." Justin said looking away. 

"I don't think Gerry was ever young Justin, and I don't really care what he thinks of us anyway," I said holding back the tears, my head peeking out of my towel. "We're the ones that're young now and we're not hurting anyone here." 

I sat on the warm sand and tucked my head under my towel, the warmth of my breath moving across my still wet legs. I closed my eyes and tried to picture cranky, white haired Gerry young like Justin, Troy and I. I did my best to mentally smooth Gerry's beer belly into Troy's lean stomach; tried to imagine the white hairs that covered the sun burnt red of Gerry's arms as the blond hairs that covered the tawny brown skin of Troy's arms, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't do it.

Justin sat down on the sand beside Troy and I.

“I think I know why Gerry rags on us so much. After he left the house last summer you were in your room and mom and dad took me in the living room to talk, trying to calm me down.

They told me that Gerry wasn’t always so bad. That he had a rough loss in his early fishing days. Story goes that his young wife Margaret slipped on gear on the boat one morning. Banged her head real hard. Went into a coma and never recovered. Mom and dad knew Gerry and believed him that it was an accident but Gerry never forgave himself. People made up stories saying that he was responsible. That he was cheap and worked his wife too hard. That they were likely fighting over money and he probably gave her a shove.  Mom said that they were married young, right outta high school and were real in love and that from what she remembered Gerry had only ever been good to Margaret. She still told me to steer clear of him round the wharf though. Tragedy can change a man, she said. And Gerry’s the perfect example of that.”

“So he was young once" Troy said soberly, his eyes looking over at me.

We all sat quietly as the waves gently lapped the shore behind our backs.

I was having a hard time with Justin’s story about Gerry. Grown- ups were difficult to figure out.  It was as though they had more layers to them than I wanted them to have. Justin's story made me feel bad for Gerry and how things had turned out for him. It helped explain some things about him too though. Like why he meticulously scrubbed his boat and painted Margaret’s name fresh before each fishing season. But it didn’t change that he was mean to us kids and didn’t change that I had just jumped off the wharf for the first time and his angry tirade had stolen some of my glory. 

After a few minutes Troy broke the silence.

"No big deal Caran. Nobody got hurt. But you never did answer me. Did ya get a rush?" Troy asked sliding over closer to me. 

"Ya" I replied. "Ya Troy, it was pretty cool."

I didn't bother to mention the fish head floating by that made my stomach lurch when I swam over to grab onto the ladder. Or that my swimsuit top had come undone and I had to try to knot it on as good as I could before I climbed back up to where the boys were waiting for me. None of that mattered now. Justin had defended me and Troy wanted to know if the jump felt cool. That was rush enough. I had done it, we were the young ones now, and I knew somehow it was the beginning of things yet to come.

Jill MacCormack

 

Late May Afternoon, South Shore PEI, May 2017

Heave- heave-heave-
I feel the thrusting motion of
the ocean as it heaves itself upon the shore, as
a lone song sparrow calls out,
its trill cutting through the brackish air
upon which a great blue heron casts its wings,
heaves, lifts off above salt water marsh next to
rosebushes greening, still leaning after winter's scorn-
the nodding heads of last year's rose hips
adorn the bush that crowns the sparrow as it sings
its song the way it was designed to sing it-
to sea, to shore, to morning time,
its song, enduring ode to life,
bears out life's joys and sorrows 
and we are called to bear witness in equal measure-
yet what bliss this shore contains
in the quiet of a late May afternoon-
tide high, light southerly wind dappling the 
sunlight on the rippled waters as they rush, heave on-
despite our wavering
the tides remain constant in their rhythms
while tidal urges rise within the springtime of all things and
saltwater fecundity bears forth much life-
we're born unaware death awaits-
and what we learn in time we try to keep
mostly forgotten amidst our busyness-
Take note-
the beautiful dandelions are already going to seed 
and fluttering cabbage white butterflies are mating here, now-
and all the while this jagged little coastline
washes red into the waters near--
time's passing whether we choose to notice it, or not 

Jill MacCormack

Photo credit Lucas MacCormack
https://lucas-mac.wixsite.com/nature-photos/about

Late April Greening--Cinquain Sequence

Spring is

time to renew

old vows made in quiet,

allow rush of greening to swell

freely,

upward,

groaning, silent

as crocus blades thrusting

into unknown tomorrows-Life,

Changes.

To life

and it's endless

changes I want to say:

you're as welcome as the flowers

of May

as my

grandma oft said.

I want that ease, trusting

presence, desired as desperate

as breath

and love; 

as destructive 

when lost. Thankfully and

despite me, spring's greening arrives

immutable as morn.

Jill MacCormack

Women of the World Must Speak -- Happy International Women's Day March 8th, 2018

"How can we use each other's differences in our common battle for a livable future? All of our children are prey. How do we raise them not to prey upon themselves and each other? And this is why we cannot be silent, because our silences will come to testify against us out of the mouths of our children."

                                      Audre Lorde

I pulled this quote as a writing prompt from a recent essay I read on one of my favourite blogs.

Lorde's words really resonated with me as an Island woman concerned for the welfare of my birth land and as a mother of three young people growing up in an era of widespread pain and destruction. 

As a middle aged woman with a near desperate need to be close to the Earth I fail to see any separation between caring for my own children and caring for the Earth. If I fail to teach my children how to meet their needs in a manner which is respectful of Earth, I too fail Earth and likewise, if I succeed in raising children who see Earth as their mother, and themselves as shining pieces of that beautiful whole, I will have done well by both my children and Earth. I see no separation.

So then, how can we raise children to not fall prey, as Lorde write's, to the ills of the world in which we live? How can we ourselves push forward when so much of what we hear each day hammers down the fear and uncertainty of modern times? And why is it so important that women must make their voices heard as caretakers, healers, intuits and empaths? 

"because our silences will come to testify against us out of the mouths of our children."

I believe Lorde's words to be true. That our silence will only serve to allow the ways of corruption to continue.

We must endure, but not the sort of endurance which destroys much in servitude of  an egoist, power hungry self— we are living fifty shades of that already. Rather we must endure our present societal sufferings in order to begin to restore a sense of dignity to all things.

But how?

How do we restore a sense of dignity to something which seemingly requires so much effort in what seems like so little time?

By bearing witness and sharing our stories of the persecution and oppression of all the children of Earth we remind each other of the natural dignity inherent in all. This is how we heal. This is why we pay attention.

The birthright of Earth, of all creatures and energies, of trees and flowers, of breath and stone and waterways and sky-their birthright is the right to exist by their very existence. All things exist because  they have come into existence through processes of creation in the shape of time and space.

Yet, until we ourselves escape from the cultish grip of the fetishes of selfhood, through removal of the adulation of self above all else, we will be cursed to perpetuate the same old, same old in the service of the wealthy, image, security and comfort.

When we can untangle selfish desires from being who we ourselves are meant to be, only then will true dignity be restored.

And it cannot be restored through our attempting to restore it. The more we try to control the outcomes of life the more we make a mess of things. Rather, as with raising our children, we only need create the space for them to emerge, removing layers of expectation and comparison, by being truly present to what is.

The spaciousness we desire, that breath of fresh air, the new idea, the welcome change; it all exists already and lays in wait for the space to emerge, like the brightness of daffodils in springtime.

When we raise our voices to lay bare the truths of our existence those truths will speak for themselves.

Those structures of society-the institutionalization of learning, loving, wonder and creating- which we have become unwitting participants in- only further serve to recreate consumer culture- choking out the very possibility of any new ideas arising and taking the precious lifeblood of entire generations, destroying culture and community, land and sea and untold species in the process.

What then, might a birthright of dignity look like for our children?  For Earth?

The right to a meaningful existence. To have needs met in a manner which respects both child and Earth alike? The freedom to play, explore, to wonder and to be extraordinary? The right and freedom to exist and not be exploited for profit or gain?

But in the absence of this the world is filled with tears, confusion, hunger, fear, rage, pollution and destruction. And so much of this is due to our collective apathy and silence.

And so we must speak.

Women of the world must speak.

Hugging trees and holding children, caring for the ill and aged, singing, dancing, growing food, holding hands of lovers, making peace with soil and waters and lighting fires with words.

Women must speak.

To be silent is to resist our own truths. It is a lie and it hurts the whole world as much as it hurts ourselves.

It is time to release our children and ourselves from expectations, and image and from the exploitation of industry and from the perpetuation of more of the same.

Let us all be courageous enough to be our truest selves and before we know it we will have a whole world of children growing up to actually know and like themselves and to live their passions as their lives. Inevitably, these children will grow up not to serve themselves but they will have unwittingly, beautifully become that puzzle piece, the change, the critical difference, the bright light the world's been longing for.

Happy International Women's Day 2018!

Be the change you seek and speak your truth. The world needs your voice!

In words of Peace and Hope and Love,

Jill

Chinese Courtesan in Spring original by Li Qingzhao Happy Chinese New Year 2018

Chinese Courtesan
Apologies to Li Qingzhao

White silk adorns her falsely slender frame.
Another spring night falls, she must endure.

Beneath her eyes, thin plum stains, past hurts made up to look as new.
Cloud-like, she has woven herself a hologram of light.

Word upon word, mercurial song moves through
her down-turned painted mouth. A tease, she knows.

Leaving time--peach blossoms thick along the trail.
She watches for the shallow in the river, crosses.

The sky unobstructed. The moon, a penetrating gaze.

She was once valued like jade at the Imperial Court.
Regretfully, no more.

Youth's brightness never circles round again.

Jill MacCormack

With sincere thanks to Andrew Griffin for his translation from the Li Qingzhao original and to John MacKenzie for sharing his version and Andrew's translation with me.

And thank you to my dear son Lucas MacCormack for the lovely moon photo.

An Island Meditation: Nov 2013

A young family walks on the remains of an old mossing road along the rugged cape of the Island. The red earth beside their feet is slowly giving way to new territory; to sea, to sand, to rocky shore, to expansive sky. 

It is a gentle, achingly beautiful scene. 

They stop and sit on the now fading grass, the broken edge where land meets the wondrous sky.  Courageously, lovingly, together they sit peacefully with the difficult knowledge that the very ground they sit upon will soon give way.

Trusting in the shared goodness of their own hearts they have the wisdom to realize, wonderfully realize, the utter import of drinking in the view from the vantage point available to them; the difficult reality of their here and now. 

And so, instead of falling off the edge of much that is so large and challenging, they choose to fall into it; to quietly sit and touch the  small, soft clusters of what remains of late summer's delicate beauty, pearly everlasting, recognizing that there is strength in togetherness.

Reaching out they pick a bayberry leaf, knowing that in gently holding it in the warmth of the palm of their hands, it will release its own sweet fragrance. 

They know that they too are being held and guided.

They cast a sweeping glance out over a windswept sea on the seeming eve of wintertime because they know that this can do a soul good. They rest in the fragile knowledge that by themselves they can never take in the enormity of it all, nor alone do they have to. Watching in wonder they see bright white gannets plummet intentionally to frigid depths no one wants to enter in mid autumn. They smile and laugh as the gannets rise back up wet with splendor from the belly of the giving sea. They know well that it is in giving of them-selves that they receive and that it takes opening their hearts wider than they ever thought possible to fully receive the greatest gifts.

Quietly they remember the gentle caress of summertime waves lapping on little bare toes on wet sand. Good things do truly come in small packages. 

Bravely, so bravely, they wonder the why's and how's of life that sometimes are too big to wonder and still somehow they manage to keep breathing deeply. They know the answer to much lies in trusting, letting be, and letting go into love's mysterious truths. 

Their graceful ability to negotiate the precipice is amazingly evident in the way they walk their given path. (Unlike most, they don't turn their faces from the north wind for long.) In sharing with deep honesty and creating their own footpath, they share the beauty of a vantage point that no one wants to ever have to look from.

Then standing, they lovingly hold hands, and cradling the tiny ones, walk on. 

A few purple asters cling to the cape. The sting of salt has taken its toll on the evergreens huddling there but they still stand together and face the full force of the seaborne wind. The sand below the cape is littered with driftwood and wonderful, yet to be discovered gems. The sun catches, glowing for an instant, on the crests of waves that too quickly roll back into the blue-grey deep of the sea. The horizon, unflinching, remains the same.

Steadfast in the knowledge that our edges are only edges until we reach them...they recognize that each new moment can be a place to begin again from. They know intuitively that as long as they have hearts of love, goodness will guide them on their journey into the unknown. 

 Sweet and wondrous gifts to the world they are!

Thank you to them for their powerful example of vulnerability and strength in their time of need. 

Photo by Lucas MacCormack