I stepped into our recently erected mini greenhouse just before sunset. A melting pot of twilight colors danced above the Southwest French Atlantic coast: rosé, rouge, orange, bleu. Our suburban nursery was warm; rows of freshly planted seeds eagerly awaited the attention of me and my pump-action pressure sprayer, thirsty for an evening misting. I lifted the nozzle and pulled the trigger gently, taking care not to flood the trays of soil. Watering yet-to-emerge seeds must not be done in haste. Too much water and the seeds can rot. Too little and they can crack and dry out. Nurturing life requires slow, conscious presence to maintain sustainable balance.
I was healing from uterine embolization surgery, performed to correct a complication of (another) missed miscarriage. Recent blood tests uncovered the potential source of my recurring losses: two auto immune diseases that cause placental blood clotting, which are blocking the essential flow of nutrients from mother to baby. Auto immune diseases are on the rise, and disproportionately impact women as much as three times more than men. Having had two normal pregnancies and uncomplicated births a decade ago, I have been pondering the relationship between the increasing disruption of our external biome and my own internal one.
The continual exploitation of our planet, driven predominately by white patriarchal capitalism, blocks the symbiotic flows required for Earth — our magnificent and only home — to sustain life. Soothing flows that nurture all life and allow us to flourish. Cyclical and reciprocal flows that WE are all a part of. Flows that, when blocked, cause stresses and disease like those causing my miscarriages. To accept that we are part of the flow is to step into our role as Earth’s kin and begin our pathway back to planetary — and individual — health. Gardening, an ancestral practice loaded with matriarchal wisdom, helps me to remember how to be better kin.
I misted the last seed tray then gently poked a finger into the damp, dark soil to ensure the water had adequately dispersed. Small particles of life-dependent soil stuck to my skin; the babies’ thirst quenched. This serene and highly satisfying hydration ritual — essential for the seeds to grow and flourish — is part of my remembering. A mother’s devotion is a powerful force, the same force that bonds all life. A few days later, the first tiny seedlings emerged from beneath the soil. Watching them grow, I felt waves of pride and joy. My own fetuses may not have all sprouted to complete existence yet, but for now, I have these seedlings to continually nurture. As they grow, they will feed the soil and provide nectar and pollen for the bees, who will reciprocate to ensure pollination for the fruits to grow. By summer, our backyard garden ecosystem will provide our family and friends with food. The flows are obvious; as the garden thrives, we thrive. As we heal Earth, we heal ourselves.
