Kenna Lee - A Million Tiny Things: a mothers urgent search for hope in a changing climate

Moles Hill Press

Sebastopol, CA

www.moleshillpress.com

First Edition Copyright 2012 by Kenna Lee

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-0-9850215-0-4

ISBN: 9780985021511

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012901821

Lee, Kenna.

A Million Tiny Things

Memoir is by necessity a record of remembered events. The author acknowledges that her memory is subjective and at times faulty, and begs forgiveness for any mistakes contained herein.

Design by Charity Grace Kirk of Purple Persimmon

Printed in the United States of America using FSC certified paper.

QUOTE PERMISSIONS

Wendell Berry quote: Copyright 2000 by Wendell Berry from Jayber Crow.

Reprinted by permission of Counterpoint.

Nina Simons quote: Copyright 2012 by Nina Simons from From Mourning into Daybreak, printed in Hope Beneath Our Feet. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Howard Zinn quote: Copyright 2006 by Howard Zinn. Reprinted by permission of City Lights Books.

Lorrie More quote from WHO WILL RUN THE FROG HOSPITAL? by Lorrie Moore, copyright 1994 by Lorrie Moore. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc.

www.milliontinythings.com

For Bright Eyes, Mowgli, and The Percussionist.

And, of course and always, for Cedar.

It is not a terrible thing to love the world, knowing that the world is always passing and irrecoverable, to be known only in loss. To love anything good, at any cost, is a bargain.

Wendell Berry

Jayber Crow

Mom, can you just forget about the earth for one minute and buy me some plastic?

Bright Eyes, age 4

There is no such thing as a free pony.

Just before our first sons first birthday, an acquaintance offered to give us a pony, a wonderfully gentle and easy tiny white pony that her son had outgrown. Bestill my Tennessee-bred heart! Of course my barely-toddling firstborn needed a pony. Never mind that the plot of land we inhabit in northern California, the country-lite suburban parcel to which we fondly refer as the biggest acre in town, is a far cry from the 100-acre farm where I grew up. It was a pony! A free pony. And, never mind that my domestic partner is not really a horse person, and that I was nine months pregnant with our second child (my partner gave birth to our first). And having been on ponies well before I was out of diapers myself, I should have been aware that in general, ponies tend to be less gentle and easy than ornery and obstinate. Never mind anythingit was a free pony! Even my partner, usually the pragmatic voice of reason, got carried away by the moment.

Predictably, well before our second son turned one, the very decrepit, shaggy Freckles had become semi-affectionately known as the thousand-dollar free pony. Adequate fencing, extensive dental work, and the massive amount of special senior food and ground-up, pelletized hay required to maintain a healthy if toothless nutrition status, well, it added up. And continued to add up, as the years ticked by. Now, as my story begins, the boys are four and three, little wolf-cub bellies sticking out over their elastic-band jeans as they gambol about the field. (Well, it has a fence, grass, and a pony, so we tend to call it a field even though it is very, very small.) We have come down here for a final, late-summer blackberry gathering expedition, in hopes of stocking our freezer with some juicy treats for midwinter. For this is how I picture myself: a food-gathering and preserving, homestead-y, off-the-grid, ready for the post-carbon economy kind of mother. But there is no such idyllic Im-such-an-earth-mother food harvest and storage happening here. Instead, Im on my hands and knees, head bent toward the weedy ground, keenly aware that I make a comic parallel silhouette to the four-legged, grazing pony just a few feet away.

Im unable to move from the spot where I have sunk down, and the boys are circling me, unsure what to do. Im alright, I manage to gasp out for the benefit of the eldest, his blue eyes widening below his sunbleached mess of curls. Weve started to call him The Percussionist, due to an increasingly apparent prodigal-quality to his drumming, but underneath the banging, hes one of those sensitive boys, slowly furrowing his brow with worry about the sudden lack of verticality in his mother. Three-year-old Mowgli, in contrast, olive and brown where his brother is fair, feral to his brothers tameness, is thrilled by the new development. Mama is retching in the field: cool!

This is NOT what I planned for today. Today was supposed to be nature and wild berries and mama wolf wrestling with her cubs in the grass after a pony ride. Not paralysis brought on by overpowering, sudden nausea. Time to admit that Im pregnant. And a bit ambivalent about having reneged on my plan to only give birth once, you know, to avoid the whole overpopulation, overconsumption, overheating the earth thing.

Before we had any kids, The Pragmatist and I approached family planning with an eye toward ecology, balanced out by biological urges. We would each give birth to just one child, and then, if we wanted to expand our family, we would adopt. But when I became pregnant, just after she gave birth to our first son, I felt an unexpected grief. I could scarcely rejoice in the excitement of the life singing within me, echoing as I was with a melancholy refrain: youll never feel this/do this/be this again. My partner could not bear my sadness; after all the sweat and tears that had been necessary for me to get pregnant, she wanted me to enjoy it. So she opened the Pandoras box of possibility: why not just do it, have another one? Just one more child wont be the cause of wholesale environmental destruction. And from there, I have ended up here, brought to my knees by this compromise of my ideals.

So, like any other guilt-ridden wanna-be eco-mother trying to boost her green credentials, I turn to the internet for tips. Once I have dragged myself back to the house, and miraculously gotten the boys down napping, I head for one of my favorite green websites, and search pregnancy.

Oh, yikes, Im really pregnant. Again. And heres what I find the internet (www.ewg.org/healthyhometips/toxicfreechildren) has to say about that:

Print out a list of the fruits and veggies you should always buy organic. (Check.)

For your water, use a reverse osmosis system or carbon filter pitcher to reduce exposure to impurities such as chlorine, perchlorate and lead. Dont drink bottled water. If youre out and about, use a stainless steel, glass or BPA-free plastic reusable container. (Steel water bottle, check. Except, did I hear something about a scandal involving the linings of steel water bottles?)

Only eat low-mercury seafood. Carry a reference list. (No sushi, check.)

Use iodized salt: iodine buffers against chemicals such as perchlorate that can disrupt your thyroid system and pose potential risks for your babys brain development during pregnancy. (Huh?)

Just because the label says gentle or natural doesnt mean a product is safe for pregnancy. Read the ingredients and avoid triclosan, fragrance and oxybenzone. (On the to-do list.)