Something is Missing Here
After all that work; building, cutting, measuring, maneuvering, digging and setting a new home for the plants we’ve been cultivating; it leads to this. An empty space, a void, a hole in the ground, and a deep sense of sadness and loss just as the evidence of fruit was showing. Why this unhappy outcome and this gnarly finish to years of pruning, supporting and caring?
A fungus colloquially called orange bramble rust that infects wild brambles, blackberries, and black raspberries. had appeared. The infection is systemic, meaning it makes the current growth sick, infects the crown and the roots, Every new growth would become weaker, sicker, and less fruitful. Worse yet, the spores contained in the waxy pustules on the leaves could spread the infection to other healthy plants. There was no way to prune or treat the plant in a manner that would restore healthy functioning. A slow and miserable withering and the loss of capacity to bear fruit was all we could look forward to.
This meant that I had to go against every gardening instinct in my body, to destroy what was not yet ripe and the bring this beautiful plant that had fed us to an end. It was the only way to try and preserve the remaining bushes.
The process was painstaking, because I wanted to minimize the spread of spores. So I dismantled the plant by hand, branch by branch with pruning shears and heavy trash bags to seal up the infected remains. I cannot compost, burn, or shred these without a risk of bringing the fungus to other plants.
After cutting away everything, I had the challenging task of digging up the crown and trying to pull as many roots out of the ground as possible, knowing that any new growth from a remnant of this plant would still be infected. The solemn proceeding of this experience was filled with so many feelings. Grief, disappointment, anger, relief, sorrow all came calling until the last of the roots were bagged and sealed up.
In this moment, I realized that so much of my work and ministry happens in deep tension with systemic factors that keep bringing the social illness and harm back to life, over and over. I am aware of my own laden feelings, and the voices inside me pleading to rescue even a part of this magnificent structure we have cultivated. They cry out “Let’s just cut away the parts that are sick! What if we save the parts that don’t look too bad? Couldn’t we wait until we receive the benefit of all these berries? So much love, attention, care, and cost has been sunk into this structure, surely we can save the system by a little light pruning and some fungicide spray!”
While not so horticultural in nature, are these not the very voices that have the power to stay the hand of even those of us who are desperate to alleviate pain and to make things better for our neighbors who are withering under systemic oppression? The desire to save, to preserve, to get one more thing out of the whole sick bramble, it not only deludes us into putting the shears away, but it creates the illusion that maybe it will be okay somehow. The same forces that paralyze our bodies and our action also numb and dissociate our deep feelings of loss and grief as we try to prepare for something new. Even as the evidence, says that to have a chance for life, radical change is necessary, I can feel the temptation to tinkering around the edges. When advocates speak of dismantling white supremacy or structural poverty or patriarchy, it looks more like taking down the bramble then some sort of stochastic revolutionary implosion. When the whole system is sick, the whole system needs to go, and we will need deep forbearance and love to journey through the empty space before something new emerges.
This meant it was important to not only do the deed, and to do it with great care, but to do it completely, and to give myself permission to feel all of those feelings as I worked. Snip, snip, snip. Spraying the neighboring plants. Digging and pulling and chopping. Bagging and sealing and mourning. Making the ground ready. Ready for rest and rejuvenation, and for cleansing. Ready to receive new life, something that is not susceptible to this blight, perhaps a beautiful red raspberry that will take years to nurture into the same stature and magnificence.
For now, I will sit with the empty space, grieve, and give thanks for the past fruits and especially for the courage to act. The Holy One will dwell in that emptiness right alongside me, all around me, deep within me, and in that hole, ensuring that it is not a grave, but rather a furrow.
Be gentle with yourself, you are worth it.
Peace and Everything Good,
The Rev. JM Longworth, OEF Spiritual Direction and Trauma Care
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