Those 60s

Good Times and Chemicals

When I was a kid in the 50s and 60s, we always took camping vacations. We’d often meet up with some relatives who were close, get sites across from each other, and spend those few weeks Dad got off from work, sleeping in a tent, cooking on either the campfire or the Coleman stove, fishing, hiking, swimming, boating and just having outdoor fun. It was a good time.

One night while we were all sitting around the fire, a Dept. of Lands and Forests (as they then were) truck came by with some sort of machine on the back. It wended its way slowly over the camp roads blowing this fog into the air. I asked my mom what it was. “DDT,” she said. “It’s ok, it won’t hurt us.” It was supposed to just kill mosquitoes and not harm anything else. In those days, it wasn’t at all unusual to hear the call of the whippoorwill in the woods. I heard one as I drifted to sleep in the sleeping bag that night. I still remember it vividly, because there was something even more poignant than usual in the sad cry of this particular bird. Its call sort of ended on a questioning note.... an unusual inflection, as if it was wondering what this white fog was. It was prophetic.

DDT has indeed harmed many other forms of life. I won’t go into too much detail, because if people care they can look it up. Suffice it to say that chemicals that kill bad insects, kill good ones as well... beneficials such as bees, lady bugs and more. They also do damage to healthy reproduction of many species, including fish, frogs, birds, and humans. True also of lawn chemicals being marketed by chemical companies that lost their cash cow with the end of the war. They had to reinvent themselves, and they did, by vilifying the humble dandelion, one of the Earth’s most useful wild herbs. They convinced home-owners that nothing short of a green carpet for a lawn would do. Many people continue to swallow this nonsense, hook, line and stinker, despite increases in chemically-induced asthma, cancers and more in pets and kids especially. I mean, it’s simple enough: chemicals designed to kill, do. Or they do notable damage.
Rachel Carson

It was during the 60s that Rachel Carson wrote Silent Spring, which attempted to educate us about how we are part of nature, and that everything together is a web of life that’s inextricably interconnected. She pointed out the mistake of poisoning our environment with farm and lawn care chemicals, insecticides, etc., and what these toxins would eventually do to everything in their wake. She was attacked by the big money chemical companies for her views, but of course, history has borne her out.

This was the birth of the Environmental Movement, but of course, the 60s was a particularly busy decade, with the Viet Nam war, the terrorist activities of the IRA, the British music invasion, women’s rights, the assassination of J.F. Kennedy, civil rights and the “I have a dream” speech of Martin Luther King, the birth of pop culture, Woodstock, and so much more.

It’s difficult to tell myself that our world is unfolding as it should though, when we had the knowledge to do better. We just didn’t bother. I wonder why. I haven't heard the call of a whippoorwill in a very long time. They aren't extinct and this should be part of their range still. I wonder if I'll ever hear it again.

All cozy in my sleeping bag,
soft voices outside the tent
were a kind of summer lullaby,
along with the gentle summer breeze,
the poignant call of the whippoorwill
and the faint rustling of the trees.
And drifting across the distant lake
came the haunting cry of a loon,
fading away as I drifted to sleep,
into dreams of shimmering images,
now condemned to fading memories
from days of old it seems.

Prosperity ~ Two Sides to the Coin

The First Word the Baby Learned was MORE

~from a Don Henley song lyric

There was this stand-up comic once who told about going into a restaurant. He ordered fries and when they were set in front of him, he noticed they were burned. He said to the waitress, “these fries are burnt.” She glanced at the fries, then replied, “ok then, I’ll bring you more.” The guy looked perplexed. No, she didn’t REPLACE his fries... she really did just bring him more burned ones. What kind of logic was that, he wondered. How does MORE of a bad thing make it better?

Just how did we evolve into a MORE and BIGGER is better society?

Always a Double-Sided Coin

Growing up a boomer was an exercise in naivete. We sprang from an innocence that’s hard to imagine now. Oh my father had been in the war. He was overseas for four years, but he didn’t talk about it much. And my mother had worked out, in a factory, something that was new for women. Women who had to work in those days were maids, house-keepers, clerks or teachers. My mom wore slacks and went shopping at Eatons at 2 a.m. because they stayed open all night for shift workers. She lost her job when my dad came back. She was told to stay at home and make babies. In those days, that attitude toward women was deemed acceptable.

Three kids: two boys, one girl. We weren’t rich, on the other hand, we were about to be savagely bombarded with new inventions ~ a plethora of consumer goods so voluminous, we got all caught up in the hard work of making choices based on price and availability, instead of questioning if these newfangled products were good for us, or if the labour-saving devices really created more leisure time. Like all things, they had pros and cons. Sure, the household devices made laundry, food storage, cooking easier, and that was great, for women especially. But they really didn’t create more leisure time, because the demands on us tend to increase exponentially with each great invention. The more convenience and technological devices we get hold of, the more time we spend being slaves to them. Like now.

Then there was the television. It was a pricey thing, but my grandmother bought one so she could see her daytime stories ~ The Guiding Light, and Search for Tomorrow. Before that, she had only heard these on the big, old wooden radio. Her vision was fading and she wanted to see her stories while she still could. And we kids spent a fair bit of time in front of the TV too. There was Howdy Doody, Captain Kangeroo with Mr. Green Jeans, Roy Rogers and Hopalong Cassidy, and Uncle Milty. Ironic that we got to watch that goofy stuff, when today, even though television has evolved into a useful, educational tool, with science, art, and so much more informative, quality programming, kids are told they mustn’t watch too much. Hehe... ok. They’ve got all kinds of techy toys to fill the void, right? Do we EVER think first?

Life was supposed to be easier after the war. Why, women no longer had to bake their own bread! There was store-bought bread.... loaves of soft, gooey white bread made with bleached, processed and refined flour with all the nutritional value of wallpaper paste and loaded with preservatives so it was always “fresh.” There are 24 nutrients stripped from white flour in the processing, and the flour producer artificially puts back four. That’s why they get to call it “enriched.” All this ease and comfort was the beginning of our consumer society, and the beginning of the destruction of the family farm, wholesome foods and our dietary health as well.

Don’t get me wrong... I’m not touting the unrestrained wonderfulness of the good ol’ pre-war days either. Sure, they grew their own food, which was a good thing... something we need to re-learn. But at the same time, my grandfather died of bronchial pneumonia because there was no such thing as antibiotics in those days... something we are already apparently re-experiencing because we so carelessly loosed antibiotics into our food and water chain. Life was hard, especially during economic hard times, like the Great Depression. It’s just that when the opportunity for prosperity came along after the war, our society really didn’t do the walk before you run thing. It broke into canter from the get-go. Some things were great, especially for women, or to a kid growing up. But the environment was not a concern. Health impacts from some products were not a consideration. People were desperate for prosperity, and that was all that mattered. Do humans ever THINK first?

Still holding onto that onion.

Prosperity

It had such clean lines, made of shiny chrome
and a new thing they called plastic ~
no wooden table in our kitchen ~
Mom dancin’ about all kinda spastic
to Blue Suede Shoes, newfangled rock and roll;
Elvis and all kinds of new music
playing on the fine, new, plastic radio.
Television, washing machines and cool new cars;
all plasticized, pasteurized, bread from a store.
We were so very modern, the fifties family ~
in our post-war, suburban houses, row on row.
Doesn’t do any good to look back, you say.
But you know, it actually does,
because where we’ve been is where we’re going.
It’s a cycle, you see, not a ride on a bus.

Knowledge and Understanding

Knowledge is power.

But what is knowledge? Knowledge is that moment of enlightenment when you realize the more you learn, the more you don’t know a damned thing.
And power ~ what is that to a bit of space dust?
“When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace.”
~ Jimi Hendrix
I wonder if we ever will.

Understanding

I understand the earth; sinking my bare fingers into the rich soil to plant seeds so they, in concert with sun and moisture, can make life. I, the gardener, am only a tiny part of this. Plants will grow out of this earth when I am gone. But as long as I’m here, I like to participate. I understand the cycle that makes the earth rich, the earthworms and even the grubs. I understand the fragrance of fresh herbs, either in the garden when you brush them with your hands, or in the kitchen where they mingle together with vegetables to make a meal. I understand the sensory enjoyment of the garden, and of that meal ~ the smell, the taste and beauty of the colourful food on my plate, the sunshine beaming in the front window as I sit and eat.

I understand the seasons. Everything is a cycle, and the seasons bring life, going to sleep in the cold darkness to rest, and putting moisture back into the soil as the light returns to warm the day, and the soil ~ sun and light, bringing life once again.

I understand my daughter yelling at me when she is hurting. I am Mom. I used to fix all things. “And Mother with her hair pin, fixed it right away.” She is learning that Mom cannot fix everything. She is older and both her thinking and her problems are more complex, so she is frightened and her angst spills out. It’s a world that will not easily accept her because she is different. It’s a world that is not aware or informed ~ a world that will often be cruel and difficult for her to understand. It's a world in which she's already experienced the pain of haters. I wish I had a better world for her.

I do not understand depression or why some of us sink into those depths. I know during that time of year where the light is returning, the air is dry and the firewood is running low, life is already in the process of renewing itself. I know that under the earth, little roots are taking notice that it’s soon time to get up. But I can’t see them, feel them, hear them, taste or smell them. There is no sensory support except that my onions are beginning to shrink as new, green shoots pop out of the top of them. Yes, this is a sign of Spring too. Still, there is no sensory support, only the cold, dry, darkness. And I can’t quite reach into the light. Do I hold onto an onion?

I know that nature built laughter into our world. The male chipmunk gets up from it’s winter sleep in February. He is hungry and horny. But the females don’t get up till March, and if the male disturbs her, she will beat him up and toss him from her den. Yes, nature has a sense of humour.

But I do not understand people. I never have. I don’t understand what’s so hard about realizing we are all different, and that’s ok. I don’t understand why they all want me and everyone else to be just like them. I don’t understand what’s wrong with having different experiences and perspectives. I don’t understand meanness, insecurity that makes people belittle others, judgmental attitudes, bigotry, antagonistic personalities, bullies, or the need to control others. I do not understand greed. None of this is community. Community is where we not only accept each other’s differences, but enjoy them, embrace them, or at least respect them. Community is where we help each other, regardless of our differences. I understand community. I do not understand people who can’t grasp the spirit of community.

I understand irony, humour and Murphy. My life revolves around them all. In fact, sometimes in the fresh, crisp breezes of an autumn night, if I sit outside and listen carefully, I can hear the universe laughing, and I ask myself, are humans a scourge of the universe, a miracle, or just a funny, little joke that forces much larger than us are getting a great big bang out of? And then I laugh. Though I don’t KNOW the answer to that, I think I understand. Best to laugh; best to laugh.

Holding Onto an Onion, Laughing

Went to a place where they don’t judge
and was judged almost right away
by a young and righteous ego
who thinks I have nothing to say.

The irony is I tried to butt out ~
keep meddling words out of the fray ~
to avoid the spectre of judgement,
Yet, irony finds me anyway.

So what good to have an opinion,
aged experience or point of view
amongst those who don’t want to hear it?
They belong to their own version of truth.

He claimed it was all about honesty,
but he's spreading his karma thin.
Mote be that all the people he knows
are just as honest with him.

And I, blessed with spiritual wanderlust
find it's time to just move along.
I can teach how to spell experience,
but each must learn what it is on their own.

These are more lessons for an old broad
who’s been a few times ‘round the block;
so often I am the one who learns ~
despite limited time on my Earthly clock.

Yes, find the humour and pass it all by ~
the world will tick along as it must.
People will be just who they are ~
different specks of living space dust.

Holding onto an onion, laughing,
the root all shrivelled and old,
the sprouts consuming the root,
I guess the way all life must unfold.