mental health

HAIKAST XVI – Yahoo Hike

July 8, 2024 Eric Riddle 12:19 0 Comments

I have been hiking the Sheltowee Trace Trail in Kentucky over the past 8 years. The 300 mile trail from Morehead, KY to Rugby, TN goes through the heart of beautiful rolling woods- hugging Cave Run Lake, meandering through the epoch Red River Gorge, and then tightly winding around the perimeter of Laurel Lake. After hiking across the dam at Laurel Lake, the Sheltowee follows the Laurel River 2 miles where the trickle of a tributary empties into the majestic Cumberland River. From there, the trail heads south to Cumberland Falls, the premiere tourist destination of southeastern Kentucky. The trail goes west to the South Fork of the Cumberland River and then south until it reaches its final destination in northeastern Tennessee.

Three hundred miles is a long way and so I hike it in increments. I have led 8 unique trips with 17 friends and family members since starting the hike in November 2016. I am most proud of going with my son, Isaac, on three of those journeys. He has joined me for 57 of the 191 miles that I have completed thus far.

It was in the Big South Fork National River and Recreation Area of the trail where I found myself in May 2024 with my friends Slater, Jason, and Clyde. We were prepared for the most ambitious hike that I have ever planned – 43 miles over 4 days. As we neared our drop off point, we saw a black bear scrambling into the forest as our van rambled along the gravel road that terminated at our trailhead, Peter’s Mountain. None of us had seen a bear before in the wild. It was relatively small, but I am sure bigger than my 200 lbs frame. We were thankful that it was about five miles from our starting point AND we would be walking in the opposite direction. Clyde dropped us off and we confirmed our plan to meet up at Yamacraw Bridge – 42 hours and 29 miles later.

Three miles into the Sheltowee, we encountered another black bear, about the same size as the first, that ran uphill and behind a large boulder as we unsheathed a hatchet and prepared for the worst. We neither saw nor heard any more of the bear after we passed the bend where it emerged. Quickly, we descended to Desperation Creek and on towards the Cumberland River.

The wildness represented in an animal like a bear is distinctly different from the wildness of a unique ecosystem, far from civilization. A beautiful, remote landscape elicits the joy of being the audience of a rare spectacle, while an animal strikes the fear of being part of the spectacle, where actions have real consequences in a unique and unpredictable situation. Wilderness is the setting where our historic relationship to nature can be experienced. In a controlled environment, a zoo for example, the wildness of a bear is obscured by the domestic surroundings. With the trappings of safety, it is impossible to truly feel the nature of the animal. Hiking brings you into the liminal space of wildness and unforeseen scenarios.

We all stepped to that threshold before the bear – and the feeling it elicited – passed and was not seen again.

At sunset, we found a beautiful beach camp location along the Cumberland. We woke to rain. And it rained, with a few hours of reprieve, for the next 24 hours. We were prepared for the weather, but it was nonetheless painstaking. When attempting to hike 18 miles in a day, there are many decisions to be made around conserving energy, pushing through pain, finding ideal rest sites, and understanding the needs of fellow travelers. Even very practical decisions like following a map are not always straightforward.

The rain abated early on day three, but within 2 miles, we had to cross a creek carrying the previous day’s rain – waist deep. Despite the challenge, we made it to our rendezvous point at Yamacraw Bridge on time with Slater departing and Clyde joining us for the remaining 14 miles of the trip. We had hopes of potentially, with good weather, finishing the trail a day early and heading back home to appreciate the luxury of dry clothes.

Good fortune eluded us as we hiked into the Yamacraw Trail Race, a 40 mile out-and-back trail run competition. On a muddy trail. What you might call a quagmire. In hopes that we would not be following the racers, I made a wrong turn that led us almost a mile off trail. When we returned to the Sheltowee, the three of us, each with heavy packs on, were intermittently being yelled at “Runner behind” or – spotting a runner in front – we would shuffle into the mud at the edge of the trail. I had never experienced anything like this traffic. The trail conditions, physical tiredness, and general chaos of sharing the trail confounded us.

Mud slicks and loose rocks
Rambunctious runners on trail
We’re slow and steady

We lost sight of the river and walked into the hills, again mistakenly off trail, but luckily hiking more or less parallel to the Sheltowee and without the disturbance of runners. However, as we veered back towards the main trail 4 miles later, we discovered on the map a spaghetti section of overlapping trails in the area of Yahoo Arch and Yahoo Falls. We were close to the largest campground in the area and there were many trails between us and the Cumberland River. We merged into this poorly marked trail system at Yahoo Arch.

This part of Kentucky is known for its monumental rock formations. The epicenter, about two hours northeast of us, is named “Natural Bridge State Park” for the extraordinary sandstone arches emerging from the forest. Only the iconic Arches National Park in Utah contain a higher density of these geological marvels.

Yahoo Arch, in my estimation, is the most impressive arch that I have seen in Kentucky. There are multiple levels, caves, and a spiral path that conjured the impression that we were in a sort of M.C. Escher.prehistoric rock sanctuary – impossible to capture on camera or video. It was our first pause for true enjoyment since falling asleep along the river two nights before. A kind of stare up towards the heavens and slowly rotate in place kind of pause. Being here was not part of the plan, but the gravitas of this place would ultimately help us find our way out.

Reluctantly, we continued- not 100% sure how to link back to the Sheltowee. We saw our first non-runner on the trail in over 24 hours. A guy from Charlestown, IN with a curious Caribbean accent. Being tired, I took a bit of a break to talk to him while Jason and Clyde walked on. The conversation sparked when he mentioned that he was dabbling in semi-professional photography. Before going our separate ways, I formally introduced myself and he gave me his name- Mike.

When I caught up to Clyde and Jason, it began raining again. The best we knew to do was to walk north and hopefully the spaghetti would straighten out. We headed down towards the creek that would eventually lead to the Cumberland. Crossing the water, Jason fell. Clyde unbuckled the pack from his waist and Jason staggered to the creek edge. He laid there. We were lost. Darkness was approaching. We were still 6 miles from our final destination.

While not spoken, I felt our motivation to complete 43 miles was broken.

We crossed another creek and then I scouted for a trail by climbing a steep hill to what was hopefully the Sheltowee. This was not the way.

Wet toes, muddy boots
Gingerly placing trek poles
Feet throb, descending

We hiked back to where Jason fell and then south in the direction of the campground. We heard noise nearby and hoped we were close. Once we turned a corner on the spaghetti trail, we realized that we were at Yahoo Falls.

The waterfall was majestic. While not wide like Cumberland Falls, it more than makes up for it in height. And the previous day’s rain flowed from above. The noise we heard were boys playing at the base of the falls. Unfortunately, this also meant that we were still not imminently close to the campground.

The rock shelter behind Yahoo Falls contained a wide arcing trail. Far on the other side, I saw a man taking photographs. It looked like it might be Mike.

I yelled, “Mike, is that you?”

“Yes,” he responded.

“Good to see you again. May we talk?”

“Of course,” he affirmed.

I quickly walked over, wincing at the pain in my feet. Jason was stationary and Clyde assessed other pathways.

I laughed with Mike for a moment, not sure how he had photographed Yahoo Arch and returned to this spot, ahead of us. Gazing upward, he told me it was the highest waterfall in Kentucky. He had planned to go straight back to his car, but felt inclined to photograph these falls one last time.

I told Mike what had transpired over the last hour. In a moment of full transparency, I acknowledged the awkwardness of what I was about to say and then did my best to tactfully state that, ideally, we would like to get back to our car- ASAP. I asked if he would be willing to drive the three of us and our backpacks the 15 minute drive from Yahoo Falls campground back to the church where our van was parked. Without hesitation, he said yes. I yelled across those beautiful falls for Clyde and Jason.

We followed Mike to his car, giving him time to take more photos as he guided us on the trail. Clyde asked him how to view his photography and he told us to check out Mike Heaven on Facebook. We had to clarify that his last name is Heaven. Indeed it is, he assured us. Jason may have made a remark about him being an angel.

On the fifteen minute car ride, we learned more about Mike. He is from Brooklyn and the youngest of 9 brothers. He moved to Louisville to go to college. After graduating, he became an accountant and began doing travel photography. With humility, Mike mentioned how surprised he was to gain an online following of 25,000 people in less than a year.

When we returned to our van at Flat Rock Missionary Baptist Church, Mike reluctantly took the money that I offered him for his nearly miraculous assistance. Before getting back into his car, he walked over to a long, intact snake skeleton in the church parking lot to take one final photo before being on his way.

Across the wide arc
I call to photographer
Yahoo Falls angel

Episode 66 – Vachel Hudson, Mental Health Matters

April 23, 2024 Tony Roberts 00:40:39 Comments Off

In this episode, Tony is back in Columbus and takes the opportunity to team up with Eric in Studio E to interview Vachel Hudson, a mental health leader in the community.

Vachel Hudson is the Project Manager for the Mental Health Matters initiative in Bartholomew County, Indiana. He works for Columbus Regional Health, leading the community-wide initiative to improve the mental health system for the wellbeing of all individuals of Bartholomew County. He works with various stakeholders from different sectors to design, plan, and implement projects that enhance outreach, engagement, and mobilization. He ensures the quality, compliance, and data analysis of the Mental Health Matters ambassador program.

Vachel holds an MBA in Operations and Management from Saint Mary’s University of Minnesota and a BA in Mass Communications and Marketing from Kentucky State University. Vachel was born in Columbus and has lived in Louisville and Minneapolis for significant portions of his life before moving back to Columbus in 2023 to help launch Mental Health Matters.

HAIKAST XIV – Origin Story

April 10, 2024 Eric Riddle 00:07:11 Comments Off

I recently went on a search for my earliest recorded haiku from what I shall call the “Opening Era”. That era began with the death of my last grandparent, Amos Harlan Rippy. After his funeral on the hillside cemetery in Tell City, Indiana in 2013, I felt a commitment with an origin outside of myself to dive into my feelings and express them poetically.

Rippy and Rip were the common nicknames for my grandfather, who was called “Pop” by my siblings and me. The last name of Rippy is Irish in origin. We have records dating back to the late 1700s when the Rippy family immigrated from Ireland to Orange County, North Carolina.

Upon his death, having had 2 daughters, his surname was now locked in time as my middle name, Eric Rippy Riddle, and further honored as my son’s middle name.

While it is impossible to say the nature of the poetic calling upon my life, I do think the passing of his generation summoned in me a need to bring definition into my own emerging adulthood. Perhaps the subtle influence of the Irish ancestry beckoned an articulation of the poetic impulse. I began to call the art flowing out of me, “Openings.”

I had dabbled in poetry for years, always seeking to capture the emotions of important moments or diving into the depths of predicaments that I found myself bound. First, in the form of rhyming couplets and then in free flowing gifts to my first wife, inspired by the style of Beat generation author, Jack Kerouac.

It never really occurred to me that I was in the minority of people who choose to use language in this way. As one compelled to write on occasions of heightened awareness, desire, or emotional resonance, it seemed only natural that much of humanity would be ushered into the same necessity of poetic expression. That is not the case.

The longer form poetry that I was accustomed to writing became more difficult to conjure as I grew older. With adult responsibilities, even when I did feel the inspiration, I rarely had the time to capture the moment. I needed to lower my expectations to reignite my creative output. I chose haiku.

I began writing a daily haiku with a commitment to maintain the practice for a year. I started a Google Drive document that I could easily type on my phone. My formal haiku writing journey began on September 9, 2016.

However, in my recent research mission into writing “openings” following the death of my grandfather, I found scattered haiku that started in May 2014.

The occasion of the first haiku was a trip that I took with my then 7-year-old son and 10-year-old daughter to Red River Gorge in Kentucky. It was our first big trip together, just the 3 of us. I had started camping with friends in this part of Kentucky a few years prior and instantly found it to be one of my “happy places”.

The Red River on the day of our kayak trip was shallow. On many occasions, my kayak would bottom out. Under the much lighter weight of the kids, they even had to get out at times and drag their kayaks on the meandering stream. It wasn’t until we got to the jumping rock that we hit deep water.

That day, at that rock, became one of those moments that I knew would last forever in my memory. It holds the joy of a hot day in the growing late spring where droves of rock jumpers and observers on the beaches huddled around a deep watering hole. Jumpers waited as kayakers like the kids and me passed through. We decided to stay. My daughter found a nice spot on the beach in view of the jumping rock.

My son wanted to jump. He and I climbed to the top, feeling the communal anxiety of the 40 ft drop. Many grown adults waited as others stepped to the edge, stalled with apprehension. After watching many take the leap, my son and I made our way to the spot. We joined hands, but then he wanted me to go first. I had to wrestle my own fears to take the leap, trusting he would come after me.

And then there I was, submerged, the water deep enough to not even tickle my toes. I came to the surface and stretched out my arms. With no hesitation, Isaac jumped. My son’s youth, alive with the thrill of gravity plunging him under water for a moment. People cheered us on for his courage.

Later in the day, we camped for the first time together as a family. My daughter led the effort to build a roaring campfire on the edge of a large field, where we watched that same river winding its way past our tent. I taught the kids all the basics of camp life, profoundly grateful that I could spend this time with them, aware that I may be initiating a new tradition in our family.

That evening, as the stars basked in a clear sky, the hot embers were ready for smores. We gathered all the needed supplies and reveled in that glorious delight best reserved for moments such as this.

Haiku moments may serve as emotional images, memorable markers along life’s journey. I am thankful that my 2 original haiku capture the essence of that lovely day back in 2014. It was good to enjoy such a sweet opening and experience of fatherhood with my two beautiful children.

Water kayak you
Rock jump into waiting arms
Eight mile memory

She ate half the smore
Dark Chocolate and cracker
Marshmallow for dad

HAIKAST XI – On The Verge

January 7, 2024 Eric Riddle 00:06:59 Comments Off

One of my favorite words is verge. It is one of those fun words that can be either a noun or verb. I first gained a deeper appreciation for its meaning when reading a book about landscapes. In that book, verge was described as a place that delineated the border of human made space and natural space. The leading example was of beachfront properties, describing how humans often desire to build sophisticated infrastructure as close to wild places as possible. So a coastline could be a verge – a transition space between the inevitable wild and the human built.

Another use of the word verge is the green space between a street and sidewalk. In this case, it is a highly controlled natural zone in the streetscape. Other terms used for that zone are berm, curb strip, swale, grass strip, terrace, green belt, tree bank, street lawn, sidewalk plot, etc. When I visited Portland, a town that does an incredible job of landscaping with diverse plantings in that zone, they refer to them as “hell strips.”

In this zone, the verge is technically, and very importantly, the right-of-way. Say “right-of-way” 5 times fast and you’ll begin to wonder how it ever got that civic definition. Whose right? What way? It would probably be more accurate to call it a no-mans-land. Often, the sidewalk verge is an example of what is essentially the public commons gone wrong – either bare minimum treatment of weeds OR an immaculate fertilized and herbicide-fed turf grass that noone ever uses except to spend a few minutes burning fossil fuels to mow. A chemical dump.

How many verge acres are there when adding up thousands of small square foot patches in this country?

In my personal experience with a sidewalk verge, I was a volunteer leader for the landscape at my church (a former warehouse packed into a dense downtown neighborhood) that was surrounded by asphalt. Before I took on the role, there was no one doing it. I daresay that no one even thought it was a needed role because it was a weed covered hell strip next to a building that we did not own. This verge was practically invisible.

I proposed a raised bed in the verge. With some TLC, it became a mini-rose garden at the side entrance of our nondescript rag tag church. A year later, Toni Costanzi, who helped us build the bed, passed away. She was the first person from the relatively young church who had a funeral in the building, so we put a memorial sign at the corner of the bed. It was truly beautiful. A little bit of heaven on that strip.

In the following three years, with some serendipitous support from local Indiana University Professor Kevin Lair, 100 linear feet of native flowers, grasses, shrubs, and trees were planted in front of the building. A section was designated as a neighborhood garden with a sign that encouraged walkers to take some food as they strolled down Sycamore St. The verge came to life. It was my introduction into native plants and forever changed my understanding of the value of ecological diversity.

There are other verges – the verb variety. Instead of a gray line of delineation, a verge can be more about decision making, at the cusp of a transition in one’s life. It can be about connecting with a new opportunity.

People say they are “on the verge,” like walking towards the precipice of a monumental life decision. To verge can be like walking from the known into the unknown – facing all the pressure that comes from making a leap towards a new life.

Verges can be thwarted by outside forces – like being on the verge to victory, only to have the ball bounce the wrong way on the road to defeat. Or you can di-verge and decide to go a different way from where you had expected.

In 2023, I attempted to verge into City Council political life. I walked into the Election Day party ahead in the polls, only to see my lead dwindle and then slip away at the last moment. I was on the verge to a new path in life and then I lost. The verge line between the public life of an elected official and the wild life of the general public grew very thin in November. In my ongoing advocacy work, I will remain near that edge, that gray space where private citizens try to influence public officials. Hugging close to that line is what I think of as democracy, as we all play a part that can go well beyond our time in the voting booth.

The day after I lost the election, I drove to Chicago for work. The timing was very helpful as I decompressed from 4 months of feverish activity. The first morning in the city, I woke up early, grabbed a cup of coffee, and walked straight to the shores of Lake Michigan. There, at Promontory Point near Hyde Park, I walked out towards the large hewn stones that formed a bulwark against the crashing waves. I was mesmerized. The skyline unfolded north of me. That crisp morning, I climbed down the rock until I was dangerously close to the spray of the water mist. I started taking pictures. Why was I doing this? I was enthralled by the rock in foreground, the stop action of a crashing wave caught at its apex, and the skyline in the background.

They weren’t great pictures. It’s impossible to catch the immanence of that place or the feeling that I had that morning – the proximity to unpredictable nature on the Chicago metropolis shore.

I had found a verge.

I danced on the stones as long as I could before I needed to leave to meet my colleagues.

Found verge at rock wall
Lake waves crash on hand hewn stone
Lawn then trail then road

Episode 62 – Tony’s Moving to New York!

December 11, 2023 Eric Riddle 00:59:46 Comments Off

On this special old school episode, Eric Riddle produced the show. The show begins reflections of friends and family members answering the question, “What Does Tony Mean to You?” The episode then transitions into Tony and Eric discussing his move to New York, details about his new book, “Hope for Troubles Minds: Tributes to Those with Brain Illnesses and Their Loved Ones,” their experience going to an Indiana Hoosiers basketball game, and the background to Eric’s Haikast episodes.

The Revealing Voice podcast will continue in 2024 with more interviews, more Haikasts, and more news about Delight in Disorder ministries. Thank you for another great year as we wrap up the 6th year of podcasting!

HAIKAST X – The Democracy Experience

December 1, 2023 Eric Riddle 00:10:08 Comments Off

I ran for City Council earlier this month. On the Sunday before the election, I decided to walk the outdoor labyrinth and then I went home to write, rather than continuing to seek, knock, and ask my way into office. This is an edited version of what I wrote while in that moment:

Beautiful fall day in early November. After 3 months of knocking on over 1,000 doors, I find myself sitting on my front porch, compelled to capture this moment of tension, 48 hours before the final votes are cast.

I’ve never run for a political office. This year, I finally succumbed to the drumbeat of people telling me that I have the right personality and patience to do the job.

This is what I have come to understand – people care deeply for their neighbor, but aren’t sure what is best for others. In that quandary, some think that people should trust in self organization and caring for each other, free from the restrictions or requirements of a governmental authority. Others see the mounting needs of others in society and see great value in a public institution that cares for those who struggle.

I believe that humans have the capability and responsibility to organize effective governance so that the plight of poverty is diminished in civilization. But we must be actively engaged in our democracy to make this aspiration possible.

I am at peace with my participation in this democratic process. I entered this campaign focused on meeting my neighbors, sharing my story of developing my leadership sensibilities during the city’s flood recovery, and focusing on affordable housing, the mental health matters initiative, supporting Nexus Park and the associated economic development around the area, and meaningful participation in the local climate alliance. I’m committed to the work of Landmark Columbus for preserving our cultural heritage and advancing design principles in our civic life.

Getting votes can have a corrupting influence on the imagination. It’s easy to weigh every decision as an opportunity to gain as many votes as possible. And if not careful, it’s easy to start objectifying and stereotyping people in the process. Asking yourself, who should I and who should I not care about in this time-constrained endeavor to win?

At some point about a month ago, I let go of the pressure to win and focused on the process. It is more about paying attention to democracy and less about politics. To care about people voting and wanting to be educated about the issues. This does not need to be a popularity contest.

When people talk about democracy dying, I think it’s because we have turned our minds towards the abstractions of national politics and not towards the relationships that can be formed between voters and their elected officials. It is easier to have that relationship building value in a city election. I’ve been able to meet a large percentage of the people who live in this neighborhood. I have the experience of listening to and caring for all of the perspectives that have been expressed to me along the way. People have respectfully disagreed with me. Some have not been able to engage in conversation at all due to my party affiliation. Others have been willing to listen to change their mind. I’ve had big smiles and high fives and invites into homes.

I grew up in this district on Woodfield Place, went to school, bought my first home, attended church, and settled into this home with Jen for the past 11 years in this district. I raised my children here. It’s been an honor to meet so many people who create the fabric of my existence. Who help keep me safe, who provide joy with their house decorations, who work to make this community better.

I’m unconventional – more of an artist than an economist. I would like to think that I have the best designed signs among all the candidates. I’m not the best public speaker and I still get butterflies every time I think about knocking on doors.

Today is the first day that I did not feel those butterflies. It’s the first day that I felt like I can rest and reflect without agonizing about what I could have done. And maybe I will lose this election by a handful of votes that perhaps I would have gained had I walked around this neighborhood today. It’s impossible to know.

I’ve approached each day as an underdog. Wondering if I could push past the 50% mark by Election Day. I kind of imagined this Sunday as a mad dash to win – skipping church, maybe skipping lunch and galvanizing an army of people to knock on doors with me. But I did not do that. I have watched the shadows on this day. I’ve reacquainted myself with the flowers that have browned and grayed since their full blooms were on display when I first started this campaign. They have lost their energy and are giving back to their roots, preparing for the inevitable winter and dormancy. They will emerge in the spring. I will too.

I’m not sure what will happen and I’m at peace with the public making that choice for me. I would like to think that my life won’t be dramatically different whether I win or lose. With a win, I have a council vote. If I lose, I will continue to be an advocate. Either way, at the top of my mind is serving the public in a way that is genuine, full of care, and curious about how to shape a community to be better connected. We all sit somewhere in this vast web of Columbus and we are inextricably linked. I have learned that more than ever over the course of this year. There is no way to separate each other from the reality of a shared destiny.

I chose a campaign slogan of “Listen. Learn. Lead.” to calm my nerves and to be a reflection of who I am. It’s easy to get caught in the desire to be an aspiring omni-everything leader. Great in front of the audience, great in front of the computer, great in the subject matter of public opinion, and connected to the important people – able to get things done. But the reality is that most of us only have the capacity to excel in a few of those skills. I am at peace with listening to the themes of this community and being humble enough to not have immediate answers. I hope that I encourage new people to come to public meetings to help serve the greater good.

I will be walking away from this season having learned that I’m a listener – or at least aspire to be. To accept a leadership style that is perhaps a little less driven by ego and more by a desire to empower others – not for me to be at the center, but for the connections that emerge to be the motivation for positive change.

I’ve not talked directly about the environment perhaps as much as I would have liked. I will close by saying that I want to think about all of life as my constituency. Everything that pulses and contributes to the ecosystem has a voice and purpose that is worthy to be listened to and upheld. To be a part of the conversation of creation. We are stewards of something that we did not create. How do you create a sense of stewardship over all that we are connected to, human and non-human? It’s about seeking relationships with those who struggle, who have a voice, but are not heard, and are asking for our help.

Between knocks on porch
Calm before conversation
The person cares here

I lost the election by a 48% to 52% margin. I was glad to see the newspaper print an editorial a few days later with that begin with this sentence:

“Eric Riddle was not victorious in his bid for a seat on the Columbus City Council, but on election night Nov. 7, his prevailing opponent, Kent Anderson, said Riddle was a winner.”

This quote captured my intentions in campaigning – to build a positive relationship with my neighbors and with Kent Anderson – who despite being my opponent, I referred to as my running mate.

I look forward to supporting Kent and the community in whatever capacity best suits my abilities. I’m proud to have accepted an invitation to be a Mental Health Matters Ambassador in Columbus. Perhaps that will be more impactful for me to be doing over the next 4 years!

HAIKAST VIII – Gardening 201

August 30, 2023 Eric Riddle 00:06:18 Comments Off

It’s hard to accurately describe how big my parents’ garden was when I was a child. I remember many summer days working with them to dig rows, plant seeds, weed and harvest. It was home to many vegetables, most notably the corn that my dad loved to grow and the green beans that I wasn’t as fond of. But just as the corn towered over my single digit self, the garden also spread wide to be as big as any that I knew. To my eye, perhaps only my dad’s parents’ garden in rural Green County, Indiana was larger.

Whatever the dimensions, it was large enough to plant in me a seed of understanding and a desire to want to have my own garden.

I am excited that this year I only spent $10 on my entire vegetable garden thanks to a combination of saving seed packets from last year, harvesting my own seeds, trading plants with friends, getting seeds from the public library seed share program, and allowing volunteer plants to find their way. A package of brussel sprout plant plugs and a seed pack of green beans was my only expense for a massive harvest this year. It may seem counterintuitive, but the more involved with plants I have become, the less I have had to spend on their cultivation.

For people who did not grow up around the cycle of planting and harvesting, I can imagine that gardening may seem like a risky gamble into struggling with unkempt weeds and frustrating neighbors. Depending on your property, a garden can be a public hobby and, if you aren’t sure of your motivations or confident in what you are doing, may invite embarrassment at the site of perceived failure when the harvest doesn’t seem worth the effort.

What I can tell you is this – the more that I have gardened, the more I realize that I don’t do the gardening for my diet, property value, public relations with my neighbors, or to fill my time.

I garden for the plants and for the non-human life that benefits from the presence of diversity on my property.

Yes, all of the former that I mentioned are definitely benefits for me as well.. I will be the first to raise my hand to say that a late spring harvest of salad greens or a long awaited late summer watermelon are among the most savory and sweet moments of my year.

In the garden, beyond the abundance of harvest, there is also death. The use of herbicides, forgetting to water during dry spells, the mildew that may get hold of my squash before maturity, and all kinds of other unforeseen events may create less than ideal conditions of growth. The natural lifecycle of plants and insects, and, of course, rabbits’ appetites, will inevitably dash one’s ideal harvest dreams. I have more than once accidentally pulled a maturing desirable plant in my hasteful weeding endeavor on a hot summer evening. It doesn’t take too long to cope with death in the garden – both intentional and unintentional.

This seasonal lifecycle welcomes my presence in this entire drama, especially with native plants. The ultimate goal of a balanced, thriving environment around my home is my care and attention. That is why I do my best to restrain myself from pulling plants that migrate to parts of my yard where they were not originally planted. Rather than dumping fertilizer at a fixed location, I let them show me where they want to grow. I figure that they know better than I do what conditions work best for them – small changes in sunlight, moisture, soil type and neighboring plants play a big role in what will thrive and what will falter. Knowing this, I do my best to work with the plants to let them exert their preferences, rather than me enforcing mine.

I have a perhaps too cautious concern for the use of fertilizers and anything that ends with the suffix “-ide”, so I rely on my time to be the best determiner of what grows and what dies. So I watch, learn, and plan for the introduction of new plants and successional plantings to keep the bees busy. I want to attract other flying friends – whether it be birds or other insects, butterflies – by the diversity of plants in my yard, so they remain curious to come back year after year to see what I am up to on my little corner of the planet.

My relationship with those creatures is what inspires me much more than trying to impress my neighbors. I do keep a reasonable order about my designs, but the primary rationale of my gardening and the outcomes that I care most deeply about are focused on if the birds and bees feel invited. My pro tip to those who want to get a little more adventurous with gardening is to keep the mowed areas edged very well so people can tell that you take great care of the lawn portions of the yard.

People often ask me how I spend so much time outside and not worry about getting stung. The funny thing is, the only sting I have received over the past decade was from a wasp that wasn’t happy with me entering my back door.

Best fertilizer
Shadow of the gardener
Care of dirty hands

HAIKAST V – Horticulture Therapy

May 16, 2023 Eric Riddle 00:06:15 1 Comment

I really enjoy the idea of volunteer work in public spaces. For me, it feels like the basics of civilization. Essentially, I am talking about convincing people that no one needs to get paid to benefit the common good. This is a difficult task on a number of levels.

First, people like to get paid.

Second, there are city and county workers who get paid to maintain public spaces who may not like volunteers working in these same areas.

Third, doing large scale projects to benefit the public good requires money, talent, time, and coordination.

Fourth, if the project is going to endure, maintaining public space designed and created by volunteers requires long term support from people who are paid.

This is even more difficult to achieve when doing landscape projects.

About three years ago, my friend, Ben, and I had just completed a volunteer landscape project and had ambitions for a bigger endeavor. We needed someone who had control over substantial amounts of grass (aka green canvas) and an appreciation for native plants.

We found our key supporter in Brian Payne, Director of the AirPark property on the north side of Columbus. In addition to the acre of land that he had already given us to create a meadow, he also has about a 2 mile People Trail going through his property.

We developed a fundraising campaign for $15,000 to purchase plants, signage, raised beds, and a bench for a project that we dubbed, the “AirPark Pollinator Path.” In year one, we completed the meadow and transformed an 800 square foot AirPark entrance area into a native plant bed.

We had only used about half of our money, so for spring 2023, we decided to take on over 7,000 square feet of space. It was much more than I had dreamed was possible when we started the fundraising campaign.

By the end of April, 15 new beds were completed. Over the course of one of the most incredible weeks of volunteer coordination, led by multiple Sierra Club members, the sod was removed, mulch was added, plants were layed out, holes were dug, flowers and grasses found their new homes, and water topped off the effort. And then a glorious rain fell that Saturday evening after we were done.

One of the new volunteers that came out mentioned that she is getting a Masters in Public Health. She shared with me that she is convinced that taking care of plants improves health. She wants to be able to explore that more in her education.

I told her that I am very confident that horticulture therapy is an effective way of improving physical and mental health. In my opinion, on any list of options that a doctor, therapist, public health official, pastor, or concerned friend may give to someone in need of support for their mental health, working with plants should be top 5.

I do have a broad definition for working with plants! There are lots of actions that I associate with horticulture therapy in my life. Planting, harvesting, cooking, floral arranging, smelling, weeding, watching the insect interactions, pruning, eating raw veggies straight from the ground, picking fruits from the tree, plucking berries from the bush, drying, saving seeds, composting, rubbing fingers on a mint leaf, waving my hand over the top of native grasses….

Imagine all of the things that you can do just on the other side of what you do not control – after germination, that beautiful creative act when the green shoot emerges from seed. That first glimpse of green has a name – radicle. It is in nurturing that life just one small step after the radicle moment that horticulture therapy emerges for me.

So in these beds of columbine, butterfly weed, western sunflower, joe pye weed, penstemon, aster, coreopsis, iron weed, spiderwort, rattlesnake master, wild quinine, prairie drop seed, little blue stem, and coralberry, our friends the bees, butterflies, bugs, bats, and birds will thrive. The fauna will bask in this culinary floral delight. This becomes their ecological home. The honor of shaping this home is deeply therapeutic for me.

My prayer is that you, dear listener, will thrive as your five senses are opened by interacting with plants – as you taste the pear, smell the elderberry, touch the baptisia, hear the wind through blue stem, and see the blazing star. And remember, in flashes of vibrant memory, the connections you have had with creation since your youth. It has always been there. Be there with it.

As we were wrapping up our final day of planting, the volunteers converged on a corner of the People Trail near a 3-way stop. People drove by slowly. Lingered. Walkers and bikers stopped to thank us. Some asked us what we were doing. People wanted to know who we were with… while the reasonable response was to say Sierra Club, I wanted to say, “we are with the plants.”

Slowing down, to smile
Stranger meets unexpected
In the common good

HAIKAST IV – Going Green

April 16, 2023 Eric Riddle 00:05:17 Comments Off

I love spring and love moseying around my yard, marvelling at the flowers popping through the mulch and the abundance of – are they pink, magenta, maybe even purple – or simply, redbud tree blossoms. There’s so much to be thankful for.

That being said, please take a few minutes with me to consider the suppression of this beauty. The culprit is grass.

It’s mid-April and I just mowed for the first time this year. Thankfully, over the last 5 years, I have slowly transitioned the lawn into mulched flower beds and raised vegetable beds – drastically cutting the square footage of space for my human powered, reel lawn mower. It may not be the cleanest cut, but it’s pollution free and a good workout.

There are empty lawn lots across this country. Much of it is public space, maintained by the city or state. There are some immaculate lawns full of fertilizer, herbicide, and perfectly mown lines – my favorite are the diagonal strips that make X’s. Like a baseball field ready for the World Series. But I’m not talking about the outfield of the St. Louis Cardinals.

You may not realize where these lots are in your city because they are so incredibly unremarkable. The purpose of these spaces is to keep the grass from getting too tall to not get a complaint. They are the kind of places that no one cares much about, so they are rarely used.

The funny thing is that they don’t serve much of a human purpose, but we, as humans, can’t help ourselves from mowing the spaces every week to literally kill any chance of other living things from finding a reliable food source and safe shelter. If non-human life do risk taking up residence, they’ll probably get killed by a mower blade or someone who decided that the dandelions simply cast too yellow a glow on the turf.

CNN reported in April 2022 that in Palm Springs, California, it takes 63,000 gallons of water per year to maintain the green in a 1,500 square foot yard. That’s not even a big yard.

I could go on with stats from various sources about the immense cost of maintaining a yard – Business Insider magazine reported in 2016 that Americans spend more than $30 billion/year on maintaining their yards. Some reporters describe lawn as the largest “cash crop” in the United States because of that expense. Not cash for the homeowners who spend hours and dollars to – it is very odd to say – “raise grass”, but cash for the companies that perpetuate the need for these great green monoculture carpets.

What is the benefit of this cash crop?

I think it has a lot to do with control, senseless social norms, and the fear of wilderness.

A couple years ago, my friend and I approached the Columbus, IN city airport about the possibility of adding native plant space to the AirPark. We identified an acre of space between the Columbus Community Garden and a nearby subdivision. Thankfully, the AirPark Director saw the vision of creating habitat using native plants in the space that was the type of mow over zone I’ve been describing. The Director understands that maintaining the grass is expensive and takes up the labor time of his staff.

I had no experience in converting grass to a native plant meadow, so I followed the suggestion of our local Sycamore Land Trust. We began with spraying the field with Roundup 2 times over the course of 4 months. In February, we broadcast 40 different native plant seed varieties across the area and let it grow until July. In July, it was moved to about an 8 inch height to knock down the weeds and give more light to the germinating seed.

Over Thanksgiving weekend, I went out into the field and did a 360 video of the space to send to my friend at the Land Trust. He was happy with the growth in the first year.

I brought to the field a large bin of harvested seed heads from my home. I added this seed to the edge near the bench we dedicated to my friend, Chelsea. It is exciting to have an acre that is growing wild in our city. I’ll do my best to protect the space from the temptations of turning it back into lawn. I know nature will throw flowers in the air where I had thrown down my seed. A colorful magic trick.

On Easter weekend, I walked the perimeter. It’s early in the season and there is hope already beginning to buzz across the acre. The city’s garden plots, just steps away, will be planted soon. The enhanced pollinator life in the field holds great promise in producing more bountiful yields for the gardeners.

It’s good to go a little wild. Caring for the environment is not about outcompeting your neighbor for the greenest lawn. It’s more about making a little more room for life and creating ecological landscapes that thrive with diversity.

Walking acre edge
Fall’s brown lingers, spring’s green shows
What grows next, who knows?

HAIKAST III – Synchronicity

March 19, 2023 Eric Riddle 00:05:26 Comments Off

What are your thoughts on the cliche – “The universe is trying to talk to you?”

Humans run a wide range in the coincidence through divine intervention spectrum. The Universe talking to you falls somewhere closer to the divine intervention side. Living the majority of my life as a Christian who relies on research to guide my decision making, I have been trained to respectfully listen to this entire spectrum of perspectives without rolling my eyes. So I appreciate the Biblical call to pray without ceasing, but I also appreciate the cause and effect nature of reality.

I find that isolation is one of the many effects and causes of mental health struggles. I think part of that isolation is a desire to pause life, figure out how to stop having symptoms, and then play again once the struggle is over.

During physical sickness, that pause for me is often grabbing a 2 liter of sprite, a few cans of chicken noodle soup, crackers, and some Tylenol, and hanging on the couch for a couple days to recover. After the temperature is normal and the fatigue lifts, I press play and am ready to get back to work.

Society allows the time out and generally accepts that getting back to normal is a routine part of getting sick. We are expected to isolate and get well. There’s even a growing use of the term “presenteeism” – which relates to the issues caused by working while sick and the negative impacts it can have on getting others sick. Since the pandemic, presenteeism is being addressed by encouraging more self care before getting back to work.

Mental health struggles don’t often work the same way. Symptoms don’t reliably go away in 48 hours – sometimes they may hang round for 48 days or 48 months.

During a recent struggle with feelings of isolation, I went to a mental health support group called Faithful Friends. We ate together and decided to play a game called Mad Gab. The game focuses on trying to unscramble three lines of words that sound like nonsense, but can be phonetically aligned into a common saying. For example, try to figure this one out:

Key
Pure Rye
Sonnet

I will say again, a little faster:

Key
Pure Rye
Sonnet

The answer is:

Keep your eyes on it.

At the Faithful Friends meeting, this was one of the Mad Gabs:

Yule
Nut Bar
Hawk Howl Own

Did you figure it out? Here it is again:

Yule
Nut Bar
Hawk Howl Own

The answer to this one is:

You’ll never walk alone.

The 8 of us in the room played the game for a joyous 2 hours. One of my friends in attendance said he couldn’t remember the last time he smiled that much.

He is a music aficionado. He related the “You’ll Never Walk Alone” gab to a song by the same name from the 1940s. As he talked, it occurred to me that lyrics from the song are passionately chanted at Liverpool’s Premier League Soccer matches. We listened to the Liverpool crowd singalong that is included in the Pink Floyd song called “Fearless.” We then read the lyrics from the original Rodgers and Hammerstein 1945 musical Carousel. The chorus is:

Walk on, Walk on
With hope in your heart
And you’ll never walk alone

The conversations that percolated around this song were very fortifying..

The next evening, I began reading The Antropocene Reviewed, a book by John Green. The first chapter is titled “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” Ha! I instantly sent a message to my music aficionado friend. He and I may share mental health diagnoses that bring feelings of isolation at times, but we also know the joy of rediscovering how connected we really are.

Physical recovery and mental health recovery are very different. In one, we are expected to isolate. In the other, we need to be encouraged to join a community of acceptance. We may not think that the universe ever talks to us, but we need to know that there are plenty of others who will.

Synchronicity
“You’ll Never Walk Alone” song
Appears twice this week

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