And this made me think of Maggie and Kate, friends of mine whom I met through this blog (see Introducing Kate and Maggie: or How the Internet Makes My World Smaller and My Heart Bigger ). Half a world away from me in Australia, Maggie loves when I post photos of my pizzas, which are always different, always featuring seasonal vegetables grown from heirloom seeds perhaps once carried over the ocean in an immigrant's pocket (this one even having a sauce made out of red lentils mixed with a butternut squash from my front lawn). The pizzas are, in a way, a tribute to my journey of these last ten years, of connecting not only to the dirt outside my door but the people who dig in to try to make a positive difference in providing the most basic of human needs all over the world.
Maggie and Kate (who now lives in Tasmania) hosted my younger daughter's Flat Stanley four years ago. In addition to going all over Adelaide, Flat Stanley got to go with Kate's son and his girlfriend to Beijing, to the site of what was then the upcoming Olympic Games. Maggie and Kate made our world smaller, closer, more intimate, while at the same time also bigger, broader, filled with more possibilities. They showed my daughters and me a glimpse of what was possible.
Australia's seasons are the opposite of mine, and so as I planted for fall yesterday, I thought of Maggie and Kate planting for spring. I thought of how we pass the seasonal baton to each other, somehow holding up the world together in our little way. Thinking of them, also digging like me, makes me feel more complete as an urban farmer and as a global citizen.
And so, today, I know there is great pain and suffering all over the world, not just of memory but of monumental natural and humanitarian disasters. I know that many lives are being lost, right now, in tragedies that show no sign of ending. I know that there are stories of extraordinary horror, and honor, on which the media has never focused its light for more than just a passing moment (if at all). Yet, I also know, after ten years, that little things matter. That connecting across continents matters. That making a pizza and planting a seed matters. That building bridges to the future, stone by stone, however small and seemingly inconsequential, matters. That I matter. That you matter. And that together, we add up, all across our FoodShed Planet. We add up. Together, we are as full as that moon.
And, as always, as the tide goes in and out, as the day turns to night and then day again, as the moon waxes and wanes, and as the years pass, I have hope.
See a story that includes Kate on pages 57-58 of my book , and get my recipe for Fresh Harvest Pizza on pages 140-141.