EcoGathering

What is our place in the world? What should it be? What do we have to offer Earth and her living and non-living (so far as we think we know) communities?

We regulary see appeals to the privilge or necessity of humans as stewards of the Earth. But what do these claims imply — ownership, power over, posession? Are we above the Earth, separate from her, as her managers? Where does our stewardship lead — or, how do we choose to make decisions as stewards? Do we choose what’s best for all beings, or do we consciously or unconsciously shape the world for our specific benefit?

The idea of being a steward does get at an important point of course: we can and should have a role in co-creating an abundant, diverse living world. Could we do that as stewards? Or perhaps it’s better to imagine ourselves as siblings or neighbors, a more horizontal relationship with all other non-human members of the living world.

Good Grief is a group exploration of our collective grief through the frameworks of Francis Weller's Five Gates of Grief (The Wild Edge of Sorrow). Inspired by our EcoGathering on Grieving during the autumnal Composting series in 2024 and an increasing urgency to process the compounding loss we experience as the continuation of modernity relies on genocide, ecocide, omnicide and fascism's impingement on our basic rights and liberties, we will hold space to tend to the complex and often unaddressed grief that accompanies these losses and expand our emotional capacity for collective grieving as a skill for navigating uncertain futures. 

The gardens of our imaginations may be verdant and flowering places, but a tremendous amount of what’s done in the name of horticulture, infrastructure and agriculture creates landscapes of botanical and ecological scarcity. Whether mowing lawns, mulching garden beds, or paving a parking lot, we have created, are surrounded by, and have become acculturated to the very voids that nature abhors. Given this ecologically impoverished state of affairs, how might we summon the ecological abundance that exists in our midst at the scale and pace that is needed to offset what is passively termed as “habitat loss?” We could follow the cues of charismatic weeds and build flourishing landscapes that fulfill the needs of the human and non-human world alike. Could cultural and botanical reproduction co-create new lands outside of conventional capitalist paradigms? Might we call this approach "eco-maximalism"?

The physical spaces we inhabit both shape and reflect how we spend our time and what our overculture values. We infrequently immerse ourselves in lush landscapes, taking time to wander off path, stopping to notice an oak gall or to observe that you can only find butterflies around the weedy goldenrod growing in the ditch. Far more often, we drive past at 60 miles an hour, completely encased in plastic and metal. We don’t let sprouting acorns planted by squirrels grow to maturity. Instead we mow them and all the other “weeds” down, then budget massive amounts of time and resources into cultivating trees and ornamental bushes offsite to then transplant them. But the living world doesn’t work on the impatient timescales of the dominant contemporary economy. Beings, ecosystems, and all their interconnected relationships take time to form, time to grow to maturity, and time to recover when damaged. We humans don’t take the time to understand ecosystems, to engage with them and to humbly ask what they need. If we want to contribute to a more resilient, emergent abundance, we must examine how we all relate to time — goldenrod and oak trees included.