Invitation

Some fifteen years ago my wife Charlotte and I moved into a traditional Chicago bungalow on the North side of the city. As many of you may know, Chicago has a belt of similar single family homes built crescent-like across thirty miles of the city. This went on from the early nineteen hundreds to the fifties. Many of these well-used homes are making a come back and being restored to their former glory.

Moving into our first house was a bit of a shock. First, it was much smaller than the sprawling two bedroom, two-bath apartment we had left, and second, it had a backyard devoid of greenery. The apartment had been in a lush neighborhood with a beautiful park just steps away.

This was not to last though. Between my parents and my wife, our back forty (feet not acres) was slowly transformed into a small urban garden complete with sculptures, my only contribution. Every thing from bones to old car parts surfaced as we tilled the soil and until my father, in a fit of cleanliness, threw them away we had amassed a large collection of castaway junk.

The clean up and landscaping allowed the backyard fauna to diversify. And as our next-door neighbor’s children grew up, she joined us in the planting making for a thick hedgerow along the fence between our houses. This also helped number of species to multiple. I now find my bird feeder requires more frequent fillings and the local cats need to be chased out more frequently.

There are the year round inhabitants (House Sparrows, House Finches, Cardinals, American Goldfinches, Mourning Doves) and the bi-yearly travelers (Dark-eyed Juncos, Monarch Butterflies, Robins, House Wrens, Ruby-throated Hummingbirds). Each competes for the pounds of seed I put in my one diminutive bird feeder. Through multiple experiments I have limited myself to Niger seed as this prevent squirrels, large birds and other varmint from feasting on my largess.

Once I provided suet and delighted in the colorful Red-Headed and Downy Woodpeckers that showed up to feast. They were compelled to peck their way through the tuff plastic to get at dinner even though the whole backside of the container was open. The Starlings on the other hand had no such compunction. They soon drove off all the woodpeckers due to their aggressive behavior and increasing numbers, and this compelled me to remove the delectable fat and bid farewell to our fluffy red and white friends.

We have in effect extended an invitation to a small subset of the natural world to come join us and in exchange we have received hours of entertainment, and a bit of enlightenment. I have often thought what if our whole neighborhood banded together to attract some wildlife.

Mayor Daley has done some of this. The greening of the city helped along by a milder climate has extended the range of many animals that previously only lived south of us. It is not unusual to see Turkey Buzzards circling overhead, to say nothing of the Canadian Geese that have found a permanent home in the Chicagoland area.

In the movie The Field of Dreams the voice says, “if you build it, he will come.” That is what we did and “they” did come. I would like to think that we purposely set out to do that, but I would be lying. In hindsight, with a little dumb luck and a lot of hard work, we accomplished a small nature preserve in our backyard.

This can be done in other aspects of our lives. An invitation in the form of a kind word or a simple act of civility will go a long way to soften our fast paced, self-centered lifestyles. I think this is why Chado leads you through a garden before partaking in a bowl of tea.

The path brings you down slowly. Allowing an appreciation of a gentler world inhabited by subtle stimuli. In doing so an invitation is extended to open your mind and let nature rush in. Even in a great urban center a connection to the natural world is just an invitation away

Connections

Disparate threads distinguish cultures. Economics, food, life style, religion, climate and geology all play into the mix. These differences may at times cause dissension between nations, but usually, as is my experience in Chicago, the differences foster curiosity and hence communication amongst individuals.

I know this seems unlikely when you consider all the partitioned acreage on the planet: North and South Korea; the occupied lands of the Middle East; China and Tibet, not to mention Taiwan; the northern islands of Japan under Russian rule; Cashmere caught between India and Pakistan. Feel free to add your own particular hot spot to the list. Of course most of the disparities are political; people have an innate connection to their land, and will resist any attempt to divide and conquer.

The French use the word terroir, in the context of wine, to describe the attachment engendered by one's homeland. Jay McInerney, the oenophile for HOUSE & GARDEN, defines this as "placeness". Though I cannot find it in my dictionary I think it maybe an even a better word to convey the love of the land.

Despite our love of country, we change the landscape. Having spent years sailing off the coast of Chicago, I have learned to steer clear of the center city while out on the lake. The buildings, built up over my lifetime, act as a mountain range.

The skyscrapers that are our architectural legacy change the wind in their lee for miles out over the blue-green water of Lake Michigan. The concrete, steel and asphalt that make up the core of the city form a heat sink that creates a perpetual inversion in the summer. Heat radiates out, stealing the lake's wind on particularly hot and humid days.

We adapt though, and it is this trait that is the hallmark of Homo sapiens. Whereas other animals’ flourish or flounder in response to change, we alter our environment to suit our own ends. We may not always be successful, and in fact our meddling may prove disastrous, but we are nothing if not pro-active.

Many years ago I visited Greece. Being nineteen at the time, I lived in close proximity to the land. My friend and I camped on a rocky outcrop rather than sleeping in soft beds. We spent thirty glorious days, and about twice that sum in drachma, swimming, hiking and generally exploring the tiny island of Ios. The landscape is denuded of trees. Wood is at a premium and guarded closely, robbing us of the selfish pleasure of a campfire on the beach.

Since then I have come to understand that the Minoans, inhabitants of Greece during the Bronze Age, produced this classic landscape by cutting down all the trees. In the process they destroyed their environment and themselves. Even the Greek philosopher Plato comments on the landscape stating, “All the richer and softer parts have fallen away and the mere skeleton of the land remains.”

So it turns out that the smell of the drought resistant herbs in the wind and the sound of the goat's clanging bells that are so seductive to tourists is a consequence of a lack of foresight on the part of the venerated ancients. Whether we are connected to them by blood or not, we still feel a connection to our ancestors.

Some thing in human nature makes us relate to Greece statuary. Why else would the Elgin Marbles be sitting in London; why would the British have cared? And why did the Taliban feel it necessary to destroy Buddhist statuary; what did they find so threatening about some thing that most of the world had no idea existed? There has to be a connection.

Now that we can sample DNA, the interdependence of our fellow humans and our animal cohorts has become undeniable. It can be seen in the conservation of genes between species and within various human cultures. Even the use of language by our closest primate relatives serves to connect us to the other inhabitants of the Earth.

So how is it that the Japanese and the Americans have stayed connected after a disastrous past? A past initiated by Commodore Perry's Black ships, by Japan's attack on Pearl Harbor, by our WW II internment camps and by the early eighties trade wars.

Even after all the above, our people are closely connected and work hard every day to keep our relationship strong. We have many commonalities, but I cannot help but find our differences entertaining: steak vs. fish, Christianity vs. Shinto and Buddhism, a republic vs. a parliamentary government, and Mickey Mouse vs. Hello Kitty.

I like to think that Tea has some thing to do with this rapprochement. For most Americans, at least before sushi and anime became so popular, the tea ceremony was their first thought when Japan was mentioned. Granted nobody really knew the true nature of Tea, but still it was, and is, a compelling national symbol that until recently over whelmed all others.

It is hard for me to remember when I first became culturally aware of Japan. Was it a raku chawan or the compelling architecture of the chashitsu or maybe the deep rooted Zen philosophy of Tea that first drew me to it, I am not sure.

But I am thankful that the disparate threads have lead me to curiosity rather than ignorance, to involvement rather than isolation, to connections rather than segregation. What better way to live a life?