Hunting Stinging Nettles, Running Laps, Outgrowing habits

There's a "Stay at home" Declaration where we live, and where more and more of us live. According to one of my drewslist announcements "Wondering about Social Distancing" (borrowed from the New York Times):

What is social distancing?

It means minimizing contact with people and maintaining a distance of at least six feet between you and others. Avoid public transportation, limit nonessential travel, work from home and skip gatherings. This strategy saved thousands of lives both during the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918 and in Mexico City during the 2009 flu pandemic.

Can I leave my house?
It’s O.K. to go outdoors. The point is not to remain indoors, but to avoid being in close contact with others. When you do leave your home, wipe down any surfaces you come into contact with, avoid touching your face and frequently wash your hands.

There are many more frequently asked questions about The Virus and 'social distancing' on the link above, if you want or need more information. But, for this safety-pin-of-a-post I'm focusing on the two questions and answers above.

Minimizing contact with people and maintaining at least six feet between you and others ... began as a strategy that saved lives during the other pandemics in recent human history. I'm using these two questions and answers to begin a story, a story that really happened in my world.

Earlier today, mid morning at the latest, I dressed for a small walk outside. The weather's moderate today -- not too cold, not too hot. But, I had my big sun hat on. My skin has become more sensitive to sun as I have aged and as my body's immune system continues to regulate herself to the world I live in. I headed to the slope at the campground's entrance on Al Anderson Road.

I was heading to the slope to hunt stinging nettles. The walk was gentle, easy and encouraging to my sedentary and sequestered life. It was comforting to see the few wild plants, weeds, still alive, survivors of the campground's 'maintenance' and clearing. I cross my fingers for their safety, often. Not everybody eats weeds, though that may be changing. Outgrowing habits.

The small batch of nettles were growing, at this phase of the moon, they would be. It is KU. Ku refers to any thing, plant, person growing or acquiring. The New Moon is just pulling away from the closeness with the Aries Sun. Mahina, the Moon moves into a slow, but proceeding 'social distance.' In my Hawaiian culture, the phases of brightness that come after the New Moon begin with 'Hilo' the Crescent Moon.

Drawing on a memory of that Hilo Moon, I remember the small journal and moon phase-entry book sent to us some years ago. Inside that journal is this quotation:

 "The title of this journal is a play on Hilo, the name of the crescent moon and the first night of a new malama (Hawaiian month). This is a time of great potential and new beginnings, as the energy of the mahina (moon/month) increases from Hilo till Mahealani. Hilo also means to twist or braid. As you begin the practice of recording observations for each lunar phase, you will start braiding a cord of knowledge about your 'aina that will eventually become pa'a ana'au, or fixed within your consciousness..."

 

Tonight, if we are lucky, the sky will be cleared enough to spot the twist of a moon in the sky. The start of a new malama, month, and the potential to be renewed.

Back to the story that started at the slope of the campground. Glad to see the small patch of Nettles, I greeted them and noted their beauty. Gave thanks for their presence, and asked for their presents as food for Pete and me later ... maybe tonight, or maybe tomorrow.

I hadn't brought any gathering tools: my scissors or the small red colander. So, I turned and spotted the young boy who lives in the rig across the campground from us. I'm acquainted with his energy, as he was the boy who skipped ever so close to our kitchen rug-door on his way back to his trailer days earlier. This is a boy with lots of energy. A spirit of play lives big in him.

"What were you doing up there?" he asked once our eyes met and we'd said hello.

"Hunting for food," I said.

"Hmmm." That was a good enough answer for him. "My mom says I have to do laps."

"Carry on, " I said as I motioned him forward with a big arc to my left arm.

He galloped as young boys in rubber boots gallop when they are doing laps and we maintained a large 'social distance' while engaging in the most common and precious habit: congeniality.

The young boy and his family have just pulled their trailer to the 'dump station' ... maintaining their own infrastructure -- tending to their waste.. "The kid (the boy's father) does know what he's doing. I do like to see that," Pete said as I write the story and listen to the ramble of the heavy-duty engine moving the trailer to a new spot on the campground. Things change again.

The added element of pandemic presses on all our habits, and our privileges whether we are conscious of the pressure becomes less an issue as the pressure does not relinquish its hold; will a vaccination be the answer? A young boy with unbridled enthusiasm for life gallops and inquires. An old woman walks slowly toward a weed patch for food. Once upon a time, the young boy and the old woman might have gathered food together, bent over at the waist or hunkered down over knees sun hat and head within inches.

But, not in this story. Not yet. Will the boy and the old woman outgrow the instinct to come together in some future story? I'd like to think not. I'd like to think that habit would persist, like KU.