I Send a Message
Episode 6: Hope it gets through.
April 5, 2022
Postcard productivity, y’all. Mine’s down.
My postcard practice was so robust in the early pandemic. If I couldn’t see people, then writing them was the next best thing. Maybe even better, as I adored the challenge of the postcard, with its physical limits and different tolerances for ink, depending on the paper/coating, the weather, and the ink itself. I loved finding just the right card for a person. I mined my ancient, hardcover Moleskine address book, carefully kept up to date for over 20 years now. I invited people to send me their addresses on Instagram and drove past friends’ dwellings in Urbana to make sure I had house numbers correct.
I still adore the challenge of the postcard. I still love finding just the right card for a person. I still mine my ancient, hardcover Moleskine for latest addresses and enjoy brief memories of those crossed out. But while there was that one month last year where I sent 20 different missives to 20 different people (some of you know each other, many of you don’t know each other, and some of you might not even like each other), there was that other month (OK, last month) when I sent two postcards. TWO! So unlike me. I’m just not sure anyone wants to read yet another description of the squirrels outside in the 7AM gloom of very early spring. Or… maybe you do. Do you?
So, OK! I have a postcard goal for April. Let me know if you want one, and if you get one from me, let me know that, too. One of my favorite things is when people text to let me know they got my postcard. I love the immediacy of these responses—the letting me know right away about this tactile thing I sent that traveled from my place to theirs, had handwriting, and was addressed to THEM. Short history, slim presence. Ephemera forever.
The other day I heard a very nice little bit o’ spot news on WILL about the University of Illinois’ Sustainable Student Farm and their summer CSA (community supported agriculture) offering. The short radio piece featured the farm’s manager, Matt Turino, talking for a few seconds about the importance of people connecting with their food and understanding where it comes from.
I absolutely agree! It’s essential. It’s very, very important for a million reasons. God knows I’ve been banging that drum for a long time and I won’t stop, but I also think it goes beyond this idea of just knowing where your food comes from. What’s the definition of “connection”? I mean, if I’m connected to my food, and you’re not because you can’t afford it, does my connection really mean anything in the grand scheme?
It’s past time to be thinking much more broadly about community food self reliance. It’s absolutely critical that central Illinois farmers markets bring SNAP to their markets to provide more access to locally-grown produce. There is not a single person losing in this situation, y’all. Community members get access to fresh food that might otherwise not be available to them. Farmers get paid and can stay in business. Markets enjoy diversity in their attendance and participation, making them more lively. These folks know a lot about everything I just mentioned, and chances are there’s an organization like TLC in your region, if you’re not in central IL. [Full disclosure: I’m on TLC’s board of directors, and my daughter now works there, a fact that fills my heart with E X T R E M E J O Y.]
More somberly: Climate change, pests and disease, small farms going out of business supply chain problems, geopolitical conflict, etc—there’s much change on the rapidly-approaching horizon. Knowing where our food is from is a good start, but unless a) every eater has access to fresh food and b) we collectively continue the big, urgent work on solving for these problems, that knowing is simply not enough. Local/regional food activity, and making it easier for everyone to participate, takes the tiniest bit of pressure off of an increasingly disrupted and unstable larger food system.
[I’ve found the agricultural programming on WILL to be a reliable source of info about how weather and war affect the global food supply, which affects every single one of us. It’s an important lens to look through. Recommend.]
Speaking of participation: I have so many thoughts about conviviality in a pandemic, the idea of listening and paying attention to what’s needed in a community rather than putting through a particular agenda—I’m talking about Urbana’s beloved ROSE BOWL TAVERN. You can read more about the RBT’s pandemic journey here, here, here, and here. Basically, this story is about cultural redevelopment and redefinition of spaces and their uses under unusual circumstances… beyond those circumstances, despite complaints form the back-to-normal crowd. I love me a small-scale solution with large-scale influence on and benefit for local people—one that demonstrates possibility that’s advantageous for, y’know, everyone. More to come on this idea in a future edition.
[That said, Jim and I are far less social than we were before the pandemic. Age? Exhaustion? Not enough time in the day? I dunno, but it needs to change, cuz a postcard-only social life isn’t going to cut it.]
I can usually rummage around in the garage and find something that, if not a permanent solution to a need, is a damn good temporary one. Too often, and in may contexts, I’m derailed by the idea that everything needs to be in place before beginning can begin. This is absolutely not true, especially when it comes to outside endeavors, and especially especially if it is not about a particular aesthetic. My yard has never been about being a showpiece, and that idea feels even less appealing to me in 2022. An example, maybe, but not a showpiece. I brake for divided hostas and daylilies left on the curb, and still dig up (with permission) up all kinds of plants to move into my yard from other yards. Sometimes it’s just about getting something into the ground—giving unwanted plants new life in the riot that is my yard is the true beauty, in my book.
Related: This BYI piece from May 2012.
As I’m drafting this, the sun is out—a rarity these days—and I need to weed the asparagus (which is not up yet, I’m a little worried), and maybe plant peas and radishes* before the weather turns to shit again. Laundry is calling too, and myriad chores. Until next week!
* UPDATE: Peas and radishes were planted; peas were immediately dug up the squirrels, damn it
LOTSA (Lisa’s Open Tabs, Saved Aggressively):
→ TED Radio Hour: The Food Connection
→ Detectorists is so painfully, uncomfortably pure
→ The Ted Lasso short that started it all… 9 years ago
→ This interview about migrating birds was also incredibly pure
→ This week I learned what “Club Pub” means
→ David Shrigley’s art just sends me (some of his postcards are in the photo up top)
I would love a postcard, and All. Of. This. I cannot express how happy it makes me to read rambling thoughts I have, sometimes daily, written out clearly and connected by you!! ♥️
The irony: This scheduled post did not send as scheduled!