Wise Hope

Hope is a mind state embedded in our culture.  A prime example of its place in our culture is how Hope was one of President Obama's key slogans during his 2008 campaign. Shepard Fairey, a famous American artist and activist, created a campaign poster featuring a graphic portrait of Obama with the solitary word, HOPE. On May 19, 2022 one of the originals sold for a record breaking $735,000.  For more about the sale hit this link

A more recent example of hope's status is the recent Wisconsin State Journal headline: "Wisconsin hopes millions in opioid-settlement money will save lives."  Another example is an email I recently received entitled "Change the Narrative from Despair to Hope" from Tricycle, an American Buddhist website and magazine.  Large red letters proclaimed "The Earth Needs Our Hope" as an introduction to an interview with Rebecca Solnit, author of  "Not Too Late: Changing the Climate Story from Despair to Possibility." 

The Oxford dictionary defines hope as a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen. Often the word is used casually to offer support such as "Here's hoping your are well. Underlying the Wisconsin Journal headline, stated above, are some other attributes of hope, as it's commonly used. We expect or desire a certain future outcome. Hope is also commonly associated with optimism; things will turn out alright. Furthermore, hope is often evoked when faced with unpleasant situations such as the opioid crisis, climate crisis, or when faced with debilitating illness. Sometimes if the outcome does not happen, we become discouraged, telling ourselves "what's the use." 

Roshi Joan Halifax

Another perspective on hope that I learned from Buddhism and from tending Prospect Gardens is wise hope. With the pandemic and climate change in mind, Roshi Joan Halifax, Head Teacher, Upaya Zen Center, Santa Fe, New Mexico, discussed wise hope in a post dated April 14, 2020. Here's the link to the post  Wise hope has the following qualities:

• Acceptance of uncertainty. We never know what is really going to happen.
• Openness to being surprised or as Roshi Halifax states being "perpetually surprised."
• Accepting reality or in the Roshi's words "seeing things as they are, including the truth of impermanence…. as well as the truth of suffering—both its existence and the possibility of its transformation, for better or for worse."
• Understanding that what we do matters, while never knowing when and if what we do will have an impact beforehand.  
• Trusting that things change; they always do, but we don't know the specifics.
• Confidence to take action in the face of uncertainty, unpredictability, and constant change.

In short, wise hope is not grounded in expected outcomes, in a desire for certain things to happen, or in naïve optimism that things will change. Neither is wise hope a passive acceptance of what is. Instead, wise hope rests on the belief that we have the agency to create change or at least take the next wise step forward. 

Wendell Barry's poem reflects several aspects of wise hope. The following are excerpts from the poem. Here's the link to the complete poem 

  It is Hard to Have Hope  

It is hard to have hope. It is harder as you grow old,
for hope must not depend on feeling good
and there’s the dream of loneliness at absolute midnight.
You also have withdrawn belief in the present reality
of the future, which surely will surprise us,
and hope is harder when it cannot come by prediction
anymore than by wishing. But stop dithering.
The young ask the old to hope. What will you tell them?
Tell them at least what you say to yourself.

Because we have not made our lives to fit
our places, the forests are ruined, the fields, eroded,
the streams polluted, the mountains, overturned. Hope
then to belong to your place by your own knowledge
of what it is that no other place is, and by
your caring for it, as you care for no other place, this
knowledge cannot be taken from you by power or by wealth.
It will stop your ears to the powerful when they ask
for your faith, and to the wealthy when they ask for your land
and your work.  Be still and listen to the voices that belong
to the stream banks and the trees and the open fields.

Find your hope, then, on the ground under your feet.
Your hope of Heaven, let it rest on the ground underfoot.
The world is no better than its places. Its places at last
are no better than their people while their people
continue in them. When the people make
dark the light within them, the world darkens.

Caring for Prospect Gardens continues to offer lessons about wise hope while echoing the wisdom of Wendell Barry's poem. Thirteen years ago we began creating the Gardens. Our history has been a journey rather than implementing a plan with stated goals and expected outcomes. As the journey unfolded, my hopes for the Gardens were influenced by the realities of the site; to paraphrase Berry's poem, hope was "grounded under my feet." 

We started with a short plan that included shrubs as the Garden's backbone and these remain. Our aspirations were to transform the site into a small prairie. Now the site looks like a fusion of prairie remnants and an English garden: prairie plants, perennials, two cherry trees, a raspberry patch, a few small sculptures, birdhouses, and some chimes, like the one in the above picture.   

The Gardens' journey continued with July 29th work session. Joining Ann B., my wife, and I were Percy (first step), Joyce on the left of the second step, and Ann N. on the right. We are on break  enjoying almond cookies from Whole Foods. Ann B., my wife, also affectionately known as the union boss, ensures we take breaks as I lose track of time. Thank you all for your hard work and for continuing on the journey. 

Our first task, and a testimony to unpredictability, was cleaning up after the previous night's storm that dumped at least 3 inches of rain on Madison (maybe more on the Gardens). There were some minor washouts. Nothing compared to the 2018 deluge that severely eroded a section of the Garden with few plants. Madison City Engineering repaired the damage. Since then grasses and other plants were installed and this time the section held, although some plants were flattened by the rushing water.

Ann N. and I staked plants that were toppled by the rain while Percy pruned the tall forsythia. The forsythia, now at least 10 feet tall, was once just a foot tall and the first to be planted in the Gardens. It marks the passage of time while holding earth in place during storms. 

Joyce 

Everybody weeded. Here's Joyce pausing as she removed clover and Bishops Weed from a section. The sedges and grasses within this section planted several years ago are now mature.   

Behind Joyce is the shade garden started at least ten years ago with a few hostas that a nearby neighbor left at the curb. I just couldn't accept the possibility that they would be garbage in the landfill. Over the years, neighbors and friends have donated more hostas. Jack-in-the pulpits, ferns, and jacob's ladder have been added.

Ann N.

 Ann N. weeded the upper section where Prospect Ave curves into Fox Ave. The columbine plants she donated last fall, failed. We will try again this fall. 

The bottlebrush blazing stars in front of Ann N. are thriving. About two years ago, I removed the ditch day lilies from this section and planted the blazing stars along with other native plants. A friend donated some of the blazing stars from her garden. 

There is a large patch of ditch day lilies on the Regent side. I almost removed them this season but the recent heat spell and poor air quality due to the Canadian wild fires intervened. Plus they hold the soil in place and they were there when trains passed by. I am somewhat reluctant to remove these first inhabitants. 

The Path has its own history which includes steam engine trains. When Emily was in fifth grade at Randall School, I led a project, along with students, to interview Randall graduates. Students did most of the interviews. A ninety year old woman, one of the first Randall school graduates, told a story about how as child she and her friends ran to the Spooner Street bridge once they heard the train approaching. They joyfully shouted as the steam from the train passing under the bridge engulfed them.  

The next six pictures show some current plants along with additional comments. They serve as markers of the Gardens' thirteen year history.

The cardinal plant that joined the Gardens several years before the pandemic. Initially, I planted four in a location at least fifteen feet east from this one. Seeds that resulted from those plants somehow moved west.  Birds?  Wind?  
 

Golden Rod, initially planted at least 10 years ago, and in the same location. The original one or two plants have expanded into a sizable patch. The brown spots are insects pollinating the blossoms to produce more seeds. 

Another pollinator, the bee, on a Joe Pye blossom. Years ago, friends Gary and Jane, gave me the first Joe Pye clump from their award winning West Bend home gardens. Both Jane and Gary are now in an apartment within a retirement community. Meanwhile, the clump grew and the patch of Joe Pye Weed expanded. I divided the Joe Pye and transplanted them in several other locations.  It's a hardy plant and as you can see, benefits bees. 

One of the four bird houses installed in 2016 and made by a nearby neighbor and his son. This one is surrounded by black- eye susan, phlox, and yellow cone flowers. Black-eyed susan is one of the first planted thirteen years ago. They have spread throughout the Garden and in recent years needed to be thinned out because of their aggressiveness.  

I am conflicted about these  colorful phlox. I planted a few at least ten years ago and they have now spread throughout the Garden. 

They add beautiful color.  Yet, they are not the native phlox found in a prairie. Sometimes, I feel like removing some. I hesitate because of their beauty and how they have staked a successful claim to the site. They remind me of thriving homesteaders that have a right to remain.

Several cup plants, like this one, have moved into the Garden, migrating on their own from a patch just across the Fox Avenue entrance to the Southwest Path. I first noticed this one on the Fox side, maybe three years ago. Ernie, who then owned the adjacent home, planted cup plants along the entrance to the Path. The current owners, Katie and Parker, have maintained the initial patch of cup plants. A few cup plants also migrated to a section adjacent to the north section of the bike path. 

Anna Blasczyk 

Reflecting about wise hope reminds me of my mother, Anna. Here she is in 1994 at the age of 88. She was a widow since 1949. She sold the family farm in 1962 and lived in Pulaski  until her death in 1998.  

My mother faced many challenges as she raised her family of 14, before and after the death of my father. Her life was not easy.  At our baby shower for Emily in 1984, a friend asked how she managed to raise so many children. My mother replied: "You just need to get up and do something." I never heard her complain about her life or say she hoped for something better. 

I end with this 1936 Carl Sandburg poem. Perhaps take time to reflect about what it says about hope.

Hope is a Tattered Flag

Hope is a tattered flag and a dream of time.

Hope is a heartspun word, the rainbow, the shadblow in white

The evening star inviolable over the coal mines,

The shimmer of northern lights across a bitter winter night,

The blue hills beyond the smoke of the steel works,

The birds who go on singing to their mates in peace, war, peace,

The ten-cent crocus bulb blooming in a used-car salesroom,

The horseshoe over the door, the luckpiece in the pocket,

The kiss and the comforting laugh and resolve—

Hope is an echo, hope ties itself yonder, yonder.

The spring grass showing itself where least expected,

The rolling fluff of white clouds on a changeable sky,

The broadcast of strings from Japan, bells from Moscow,
Of the voice of the prime minister of Sweden carried

Across the sea in behalf of a world family of nations

And children singing chorals of the Christ child

And Bach being broadcast from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania

And tall skyscrapers practically empty of tenants

And the hands of strong men groping for handholds

And the Salvation Army singing God loves us...

 

Published in 1936 collection The People,

Thank you. Enjoy the passing summer.