Life on the Edge

Gabi Mocatta, a freelance photo journalist, came by yesterday to gather information for an upcoming story about Windgrove. Even though it had been a month since I had last walked the land, I didn’t want to confine myself to the house for the interview as it is easier for me to talk more articulately and passionately while actually out on the land, i.e., the stories reveal themselves while the feet traverse the “song lines” (so to speak). I, therefore, took a punt and walked the whole two kilometre Peace Path—the first time since my operation.

I could go on and tell you what we talked about as we slowly walked this great headland, but I would rather retell the following story that took place some six years ago about a man who “accidentally” visited Windgrove.

His name was Chris and he was one of the carpenters who, in l986, helped build the house I designed and lived in near Hobart until it burned down in a bush fire in 1991. He happened to be driving through Nubeena and, when he drove past the Roaring Beach road sign he felt, he said, “a strong urge to turn down the road and see the beach”. Then, when he saw my name posted at our driveway entrance, he felt compelled again to turn in to see if this “Peter Adams” was the man he worked with in 1986.

When Chris, along with his wife June, knocked on the door I invited them in, but first asked that they remove their shoes as there is a “no shoes” policy. Chris laughingly said he would do this, but only if he was allowed to remove his leg as well—he had lost his foot and half a leg in a motorbike accident and the shoe was screwed onto the wooden leg.

Over tea we began sharing what each of us had been up to over the years. When Chris asked about the spiral he saw driving in, I described the various concepts behind the Windgrove Garden, especially the one concerning the need for each individual to personally find an inner peace, as Chris and I were both painfully aware that our mutual friend Phil, who had supervised the construction of the house, had committed suicide a few years earlier.

Chris turned to me and calmly said: “You know, Peter, I died twice in the past year and I know what it means to lose all faith in life and then have the courage to find it again. A year ago I had a quadruple heart bypass and for awhile in the hospital I was clinically dead. Afterward, for months on end I was in such physical pain with my leg, broken rib cage and fused spinal column, that I set about planning my own suicide and was within days of carrying it out when June found out about it. Through her committed love, she brought me around to life again. Today, I still have to struggle with the physical and emotional traumas of life, but I also have a much deeper love for life, my family and my friends and I am willing to engage in this process, this journey I am on. My concerns are not about any ultimate destination, but just being present today of where my feet are on the path of discovery.”

After so much talking, it seemed important to, at least, take Chris over to the Peace Garden and maybe do a portion of the Peace Walk. None of us were sure whether Chris would have the physical strength to make the full two kilometres, so we just agreed to go from bench to bench, willing to turn back if necessary.

Over and over again, Chris kept exclaiming how utterly beautiful everything was. There were pockets of fog and mist in the valleys, on the hill tops and up the cliff faces. The sun broke through constantly creating glistening water diamonds on the leaves and needles of the trees and magic rainbows appeared everywhere. At the Point, a sea eagle perched on a nearby branch and a wedge tail eagle spiralled up from the middle circle. Chris was so enraptured by the vista and his own growing sense of well being that he kept pushing on. Slowly, we walked and talked and, eventually, we did the whole circuit in around three hours. When we said our good-byes, Chris added: “You have no idea how special this day has been. What you have done here is create a healing environment.”

And that took place six years ago. Yesterday, with the photo journalist Gabi and her partner Phil, I also walked slowly around the whole path and, at the end, felt renewed and “truly on the mend”. This land is a powerful, healing place. This single aspect is what I hope Gabi both felt and will write about.

A year ago I used the above Amnesty International photo of a Sudanese refugee who was shot and wounded while defending his daughters from armed militia members who tried to rape them. Looking, then, at his eyes, I had asked “what is dead and what just might be green and moist, tender, loving, even hopeful?” Without the written explanation of what the photo is about, and just looking into the refugee’s eyes, it would be easy enough to intuit that this person was expressing some form of emotion. We might not know exactly what emotion, but it is axiomatic that humans are capable of and hold within themselves any of several types of emotions.

Can the same be said for my neighbour’s dog, Winnie, in the top photo? Having cared for and been witness to her many “human” moods from howling with gladness to sulking for not being allowed up on the couch, I would say she expresses and feels many emotions. Animal right’s activists would most likely agree with me, but does the scientific community?

Well, the answer is yes. Two American research scientists, who had presented papers at an international conference on animal behaviour in Hobart, visited Windgrove this past weekend and explained some of their latest findings. Each has a hugh pedigree of books to their names. The man with the green baseball cap is Marc Bekoff, whose latest book, The Emotional Lives of Animals, “blends extraordinary stories and anecdotes of animal grief, joy, embarrassment, anger, and love with the latest scientific research confirming the existence of emotions that common sense experience has long implied.”

In the Pleasurable Kingdom, Jonathan Balcombe (the bird watcher) sets out with rigourous scientific evidence to formally recognise that animals emote, not just pain and stress, but pleasure as well. “Animals feel good thanks to play, food, touch, sex, anticipation, comfort, aesthetics, and more.”

Bekoff and Balcombe and others are proving what animal lovers have known for generations. Better late, than never, yes? Out of this research, though, the question inevitably arises: what are the ethical ramifications for society? Can we continue with business, as usual? Not only can animal emotions teach us humans about love, empathy, and compassion, they require us to radically rethink our current relationship of domination and abuse of animals.

My only problem with Marc and Jonathan is this: before their Sunday visit my winter reading list was getting shorter and to a stage of manageability, but now, thanks to their literary talents, it looks as if the coffee table will be cluttered with several more books of required reading. Will I be able to find the time to take Winnie for a walk? She’ll be really upset if I don’t.

So who comes to Windgrove to partake in its natural beauty and restive charm?

Disembarking from the bus are 50 people from the states of New South Wales and Victoria; here in Tasmania and Windgrove (last Friday) as part of a tour organised by the Australian Garden History Society. These people are mostly 40 years of age and above (way above).

The bottom photo, from a weekend visit by Heidi Douglas and Paul Oosting on either side of my camera shy partner, Sally, are people of a much younger generation.

Between the two groups, are there generational clashes or do they share some things in common? Being at Windgrove certainly gives them a bonding of sorts. But beyond that, what I hope is that all of them are motivated enough in their concern for the earth that they will use whatever skills and talents they have to speak out for the care of the earth. Either that, or use their financial resources to fund others to speak for them.

I enjoyed guiding the Garden History society around as they were truly knowledgeable, inquisitive and understanding about the environment. Who knows on what side of the political fence they stood? What I can infer, though, is that they would want the environment and, especially, Tasmania’s natural heritage, to be protected from unscrupulous development. Wood chips; no way. Pulp mill; no way.

Heidi is being sued by the southern hemisphere’s largest timber company, Gunns, because of a documentary film she made about the woodchip industry in Tasmania. Paul heads up the Wilderness Society’s anti-pulp mill task force. For little earned money, both have invested much of their time and emotional energy for the sake of us all. We, of the baby boomer and older generations, owe them much gratitude for carrying the activist banner we might have dropped behind as weariness, pessimism and a touch of cynicism crept into our lives.

Sally’s painted stone mandala is an engagement present. Like the older generations before them, one thing Paul and Heidi will be honouring is the tradition of getting married.

Now, if only someone in the bus tour or elsewhere would help with Heidi’s legal costs.

Just as the winged energy of delight
carried you over many chasms early on,
now raise the daringly imagined arch
holding up the astounding bridges.

Miracle doesn’t lie only in the amazing
living through and defeat of danger;
miracles become miracles in the clear
achievement that is earned.

To work with things is not hubris
when building the association beyond words;
denser and denser the pattern becomes --
being carried along is not enough.

Take your well-disciplined strengths
and stretch them between two
opposing poles. Because inside human beings
is where God learns.

Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by Robert Bly)

Desi, Chris, Paul and Heidi came last weekend to Windgrove bearing the offer of work. They, like Rilke, know that the “vision” is just half the equation; the mundane, daily slog of washing windows, splitting wood, moping floors and chopping onions is the other half. They gave of their time freely, willingly and with gratitude (gratitude that Windgrove exists).

I offer back my gratitude for their two days of cheerful company. The house shines again.

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And, not to be outdone by any human endeavour, yesterday I went to the outdoor, composting toilet and found these little possum turds on top of one of the two holes.

I’m not sure if the possum was trying to keep the toilet area clean (only mistakenly pooing on top of the wrong toilet because its command of English is limited), or, probably more true to the point, its cheeky personality just wanted to remind me that cleanliness is a matter of degree.

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Speaking of cheeky, three other visitors came to Windgrove over the weekend from mainland Australia and wanted to baptise themselves in the frigid winter waters of Roaring Beach. One of these visitors is the great grandson of Charles Darwin, Chris Darwin. Can you spot any evolutionary similarities or some semblance of a divine intelligence?

Over the past three years plus, John Kent has delivered around 40 tons of wood for the Peace Fire. He fells and splits the tree by hand. Hard, honest work.

This morning he jumped out of his truck with a gift of gold in his hands. For me. Seven juicy apples.

“I just thought you might like these” he says, in the pure, simple generosity of people who work close to the earth.

Normally, I would take such an act of unsolicited kindness in stride and not give it too much attention other than just a moment of genuine gratitude. However, a recent visitor to Windgrove, who stayed five days, yet contributed next to nothing (work or food) and only seemed to take, made John’s offering that much more appreciated by me. 

Windgrove gets a lot of people passing through. Most are welcome. The hardest to take seriously are those spiritual pilgrims who pride themselves on the years of zazen they have sat or the amount of yoga workshops completed; who lavish plenty of praise upon Windgrove, yet are seemingly unaware of the importance of a work or gift ethic.

For me, these people should stay in California. They buy the best clothing to wear when meditating, and I’m certain they burn the finest incense, but money spent on self or given without humility and respect is a false use of money.

Spiritual arrogance and pride is as rampant as material consumerism. The true pilgrim eschews both.

I’ll take a worker like John Kent any day over a “spiritual” warrior or born again shaman.

Here’s what Marge Piercy says:

To be of use

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

They slept on the couches, the window seats and in the bus. Last weekend six university students from Japan, America and Australia came to Windgrove on the Friday/ Saturday and, as they were leaving, seven more people (plus two month old Nui) showed up. When the last of them left on Monday, I was tired for sure, but happy to have met and been able to host such wonderful people; all concerned about creating and maintaining peace in the world through their work. Already, the three Japanese students (Hideki, Eri, Tamako) have helped to set up a small organisation, Echo, where incoming students to Tasmania from Japan get shown a video about the clearfelling and wood chipping of old growth forests as well as taken on forest walks. They then return to Japan as mini ambassadors for the forests. And when Stephanie, Mandy and Phan return to America after their year in Tasmania, they will be better able to withstand the seduction of material wealth and choose to balance out their lives with social and environmental work. I'm certain every last one of them would have wanted to linger on for an extra day or two, or month. Yet, this was all the time they had. Was it enough? Will what they experience here have any lasting impression? Or, have I just exchanged three days sculpting in my studio for some party time?

The answer, I imagine, lies in last week's blog entry. Planting seeds of hope and peace is what Windgrove and my role are about. Whether these seeds germinate will be up to the individual. As well, Windgrove can be seen as a watering place to help nurture those seeds already buried within these young souls. How many of us know of talented people who burned out and turned their backs to the world? At the least, a couple of days here can refresh and re-inspire. I could never turn my back on any guest. My reward is having my heart replinished with all the love shown me by such a group. It is one thing when people my own age and experience want to visit; this is to be expected. But when twenty year olds choose to do this on their weekend, it speaks nicely about what is happening on these hundred acres; on this land with its budding buildings yearning to house, nurture and provide refuge for even more people.

Like ships in the night, four dark shadows passed in front of me as I stood silent in the sand looking out to sea. Where they trod, trails of star-sparks traced an outline on the wet sand; phosphorescent phytoplankton marking out the leading edge of the last wave once it retreated back to the sea. The stars above were of the same size. The line below, pure joy to behold. These four stomping, dancing, goddesses of the night were Emma, Annette, Zanni and Maya; Melbourne visitors spending a few days recovering from an exhilarating "Sense of Place" nature writers' colloquium held south of Hobart last week.

In the past two weeks, six other separate groups of people of 16 adults and four children (painter John Wolseley most likely the best known) spent from two to five days at Windgrove sleeping either in the house, the bus or in a tent. Evening meals were always a joyful mix of tongues. Participatory living at its best. Then there were the 30 or so day visitors that included twelve students from Cornell University where it is "so gorgeous". After the last cramped carload of people left yesterday morning, I collapsed in a window seat wanting to take a nap to recover some of my energy (well spent, of course). What woke me was a complete stranger walking around inside the house. When I asked him why he hadn't taken his "f...... " shoes off or knocked, he replied that he was looking for the reception desk for the Windgrove Centre. Once apologies were exchanged (I felt just as bad for being so grumpy), he turned out to be a lovely man from Portland, Oregon sent to see me by my long time friend, Raymond. Today I was suppose to drive into Hobart to wash sheets and replenish the pantry, but the sky is blue, the day warm and my mood one of wanting solitude. Can anyone blame me?

As one walks into the Peace Garden there is a sign that explains to the public various aspects of the sculptural elements around the pond. The top of the sign reads thus:

The third "peace" is concerned with how we humans interact and make a sustainable connection with the natural world around us. This could be called a "green peace". It was appropriate, therefore, that this weekend a small group of Greenpeace people spent time here at Windgrove as a sort of R&R retreat. A time to rest, be nurtured, converse and engage in a very supportive and healing environment.

And, how even more appropriate to see Alanna and Kim reclining like temple guardians at the entrance to the "womb of the earth" and plant spiral totem of the garden; the area that symbolises the future. For these young people are the future. For myself, and I am sure that I can speak for the earth, it was encouraging to see that there are passionate, informed and committed young people willing and able to dedicate their present lives to defending Gaia and informing the public of the work of Greenpeace. Hearing their stories of being "front line" activists on city streets raising money and signing up memberships for Greenpeace, one realises that it takes a steady courage to face a not always generous or sympathetic populace. My heart goes out to them. May they continue to dance and see the deep underlying goodness and joy that lies within all of us. It was a pleasure being in their company.