Vibrant fall leaves, blue sky, a pleasantly crisp breeze, but there’s no crispness in my step as I walk to the community garden. The news is filled with covid and our harvest has all but ended. Then I notice shadows on the asphalt ribbon of this one-car path, the breeze allowing branches to tease their shapes in the mottled sunlight. The shadows change with each step. I focus on the dark, switch to the light, then look for the overall pattern. I am fully in this moment. And I am happy.
The tranquil feeling stays with me as I leave the wooded area into full sunlight on a well-traveled road. Suddenly I shudder. I try to shrug it off. There they are across the road, four Trump signs lined parallel to the road, each different, on a nicely kept lawn. Above the front porch, three large flags ruffle in the breeze – a Trump flag in the middle, flanked by a grayish blue and white American flag and one sporting two crossed assault rifles in white on a black background.
I don’t understand the shrine-like adulation of Trump displayed here and elsewhere in our community. I recoil from such displays. Toward such neighbors, I harbor bad feelings, bordering on hostility. They’re people I don’t even know. I can’t seem to help it. Yet, the abundance of Trump signs in one yard unsettles me. Farewell, tranquility.
As I’m nursing my dismay, a youngish bearded man emerges from behind the house and walks toward the road carrying a recycling bin. It’s garbage day. Good, he recycles. That’s a plus. I call, “Hello,” and smile. He smiles back, a warm smile on a genial face, and says, “Hi.”
I feel better. I imagine that he’s an overall good man who loves his family and friends, as well as his community and country. I believe he’s a hard worker because during other walks to the garden over the summer, I saw his steady progress on the shed he built in the back. It’s a narrow barn-like structure with a loft that has a circular window. A charming structure that’s almost finished. I admire it. I admire his skill and aesthetic sense.
I don’t, however, admire my neighbor’s political sense – yet I do respect him as a fellow human being. I don’t know his story. I don’t know why he believes that Trump is the political answer to his needs and those of his family and country. But I do know that he’s a member of my community.
As Parker J. Palmer said about community members, “Often they will be persons who will upset our settled view of self and world. In fact, we might define true community as that place where the person you least want to live with lives.”
So I look ahead, admire the golden, red, and orange maples I’m approaching. I continue walking to the garden, there to be grateful for the abundance of food and the meaningful moments of work it has given me and my fellow community gardeners.
Tranquility restored, for now.
Photos at the community garden in October: our zinnias and okra stalks; Sheila & Steve’s kale; Ann & Tom’s Swiss chard
7 thoughts on ““where the person you least want to live with lives””
As I read your blog Mike Gallagher comes on a tv commercial and I think of Amanda Stuck his democratic opponent. It’s so unfair that she does not have the money to have a tv commercial to show case her beliefs. Since it’s getting late and I need to get ready for bed, I try to put my worry in perspective, it is out of my control and try to get my mind to come back to the present.
Jane you wrote another excellent blog. Thank you
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I agree about Amanda. She’s an excellent candidate. And I’m delighted you liked this post.
Your blog is just what I needed to remind me of the choices we all have about where to place our focus and the need to try to find community, even in unlikely places.You are a wise woman, Lotus Greene.
Thank you, Katherine. The videos on mindfulness that Rose selected for the BG discussion reminded me that where we focus—to a large extent (probably more than we let on)—is up to us. Sometimes I think of the Buddhist view that we’re already enlightened; but it seems we humans have to be bopped on the head repeatedly to realize it.
Thank you for this. I stopped at a gas station in Kaukauna, and they was some type of large business across the street. There is a big fence surrounding the company, with Trump flags every few feet across the entire fence.
There were also huge Trump signs on the building itself. I felt so frustrated for any of the employees who support differently. They have to show up every day to work in such a tremendous, ridiculous display. The whole thing just made me sad. Through my frustration, I am constantly trying to remind myself of everyone own story and reasons for their beliefs, but it has been very difficult.
I’m so thankful that there is only one big Trump sign in the neighborhood. It’s on a street I can avoid. I’m so glad that your neighbor seems to have some redeeming characteristics. I have a friend who shares “grandma” duties with a committed Trumpee. I’ve heard her several times ask the other grandma for her reasoning (they call her “glam-ma” because of her appearance): “I’m really interested in hearing about why you support Trump.” Glam-ma just avoids responding. I wonder if it is because she has no reasoning. She is without words to support her decision. I don’t see her often enough to determine if the motivation is that she wears red a lot. Who can figure this out? Not me!
Nor can I, alas. There’s something going on with Trumpism that I don’t understand. Trump is not especially charismatic and yet he has an almost cultish following. Perhaps one day we’ll gain more insight into this disturbing phenomenon that seems to be a strong attraction by 30% or more of the population to “strong-man” authoritarianism. I enjoyed your two recent comments. Thank you!