Particulars

I am slowly beginning to uncurl after being busy elsewhere for the summer and fall. I have a backlog of moments, which will eventually make their way here in some form. I'm also embarking on new activities, weaving moments more intentionally into more direct work to address the climate crisis and related cultural/social/political issues. Here's a bit about where I'm at right now.

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On a cold morning after a mild day, frost traces sharp white outlines around each fallen leaf. As I walk across the park lawn, I notice the many shapes of basswood, aspen, hackberry, pin oak, bicolor oak, and gingko leaves. The crisp outline of each individual leaf, the diversity of shapes, and the specific circumstances that have led me to noticing them on this morning, draw me in to a meditation on the particular.

It was a morning like no other. Which is not to say that there was anything especially extraordinary about the day. In fact, I was walking my dog along the same route, through the same park, at the same time I do every weekend morning. But, just like every other ordinary day, this day was unique.

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This day was a culmination of current, recent, and historical conditions, a combination not exactly replicated on any other day, in any other year, at any other place. The particular temperature and humidity of the morning created the frost on the leaves. The fluctuating temperatures and timing of precipitation over recent weeks had the dual effect of banishing snow from the ground, making fallen leaves visible, and turning the sidewalks into treacherous paths of lumpy ice, causing me to walk on the grass where I would notice the frosty leaves. Months earlier, we had a mixed-up autumn with a spell of cold and snow in mid-October before the leaves fell. As fall and winter mingled, many leaves dropped and lingered rather than being blown or raked away, leaving an unusually large collection on the ground in January. Forty years ago, Dutch Elm and other tree diseases decimated street tree populations across much of the country. St. Paul responded by planting diverse new trees and created Horton Park as a mini-arboretum to showcase the many varieties, which now drop their many-shaped leaves each year.


It also happened to be the third anniversary of the start of what became Moments in the Park, so perhaps I was in a frame of mind to contemplate particulars. Moments in the Park is a celebration of the particular, the beauty of a single tree or the cast of light in one day's sunrise. Over the course of the year I watched for one unique thing in each day as the snow melted, each tree put forth leaves in its own time, spring flowers were followed by summer blooms, storms rolled through, leaves blazed red and orange, then drifted down from their branches, and the snow returned.


In the two years since I finished that first annual cycle, I have continued to notice, write, read, and think about the wonders to be found in everyday places. Doing so has both broadened and deepened my appreciation for the intricacy, complexity, and interconnectedness of the human and more-than-human world. At the same time, I have watched with dismay as all that is beautiful and unique suffers under relentless assault from the corporate-political juggernaut we have allowed to take over the country. I have been seeking ways to push back, paths that feel authentic and powerful, connections that can amplify my individual actions. After learning a little something from several directions that didn't quite pan out, I have finally found something that really resonates in the Transition Movement.


The Transition Movement recognizes and appreciates particulars in the places and people it touches. With an emphasis on localization, Transition inherently acknowledges the uniqueness of each place. Some general principles hold throughout the Movement, such as greatly reducing energy use, emphasizing community and interdependence, and becoming producer-consumers rather than just consumers. These principles are enacted by rebuilding the ability to rely on locally grown food, locally generated energy, locally produced goods, and local building materials, and the mix of what is available locally inevitably varies from place to place. Therefore, each community's path through Transition will be different, informed by the unique mix of geological, climatological, ecological, social, cultural, and political factors at play.


As a corollary, Transition explicitly invites each individual who gets involved with the Movement to contribute in their own unique way. Every person has a unique combination of natural talents and lived experiences that lead to them having specific knowledge, skills, and perspectives to share. As a comprehensive response to the climate crisis and its underlying driving forces, Transition recognizes that many complementary approaches are needed and every individual brings something valuable.


As I stand on the threshold of a new year and embark on a Transition journey within my community, it therefore seems apt to remember the particulars. I am eager to apply my particular talents and perspectives and find my role within Transition. I am also excited to see what my neighbors will bring from their individual backgrounds. Together, we will envision and enact a more resilient and harmonious place in our world. Our vision will be specific to where we are and how we got here. But by imagining and creating our vision, we can be another model in the Transition Network. We will learn from other Transition Towns, and some aspects of what we do will be relevant for other communities. Like one of the frosted leaves covering the park, we will take our place in a tapestry of many different shapes, blanketing the earth with a beautiful pattern.