A butchering, an acceleration, and a juxtaposition

  Exactly that, in the midst of chaos. Absolute chaos, insanity run amuck! 

Not too far back in the relatively recent past, there was a time when it was an absolute joy to drive down SR 429. The road that connected the hidden gem of a place called Winter Garden to the significantly populated APOPKA and its surrounding areas of Altamonte Springs and Maitland, being a toll road, was never, ever busy. The moment one joined the road at APOPKA, it greeted you with a thick forest of pine trees, standing tall, stately, thick, and thriving as a robust army of green standing tall, proud, and strong. I loved seeing that sight as I followed the road, usually to join the Turnpike and sometimes all the way to I-4, especially when we were going to Tampa. 

There were fields and open sky if it wasn't flanked by trees and pastures with contented* bovines. Beautiful, blissed-out open sky, with clear, crisp air, which again seemed to rule the space mile after mile, maddeningly distracting with its views far into the horizon. I once missed my exit going to the airport because the sunset was so spectacular that I couldn't take my eyes off it. I may even have missed two exits because, by the time I realized my position, it was utterly impossible that I would be at the airport in an acceptable timeframe. 

But alas, alas, alas, Alas! It brings tears to one's eyes to see the devastation and the rape of the landscape in so brutal a manner that I find it revolting and repulsive. The trees have been butchered down deep to the root, as concrete in all shapes and fashion take over. This butchering happened at such an alarming and accelerated pace that there's not even a memory of the transition', just an annoying feeling of constant construction, construction traffic, and more construction, closer and closer to the road. The poor suckers, retirees paying top dollar for a golf course under the Florida sun. 

To now add further insult to this butchering and devastation of the landscape, a tall wall is going up with concrete pillars already erected for the wall to snugly fit inside them like fences, so we don't see the new residents, and they are not bothered by the traffic. That would be hard to believe because the constant hum of traffic by day and night must never be quelled to sleep, irrespective and irreversible t as it is to the comfort of the humans living along this road. 

That's not all; hordes of apartments have sprung up, and one wonders who will occupy them. Are there so many people moving down here? And what of the jobs? In the guise of hospitals, two major 7-star worthy properties have sprung up, creating a bonanza of jobs to keep the apartments well-satiated. Oh, well! Well! Well! 

All this so-called progress is more like a landscape ravished without a squeak heard outside its immediate vicinity. Maybe no one is complaining? Perhaps they have no say in the matter? Maybe no one even notices the lack of shade provided by the canopy of mature, aged Florida oaks. Maybe folks are so used to the planned landscape greenery that they miss nothing? 

Adding to this chaos is the crossroads of juxtapositioning factors on this corridor. At its southern end are fields of a wildly spread-out solar farm! While that is a good sight for sore eyes, it's still a travesty squandered opportunity. The developers could easily have left a slim corridor of forest and untouched landscape areas as a mark of respect to the Earth, which provides selflessly. It would be a view to enjoy by the golfers and the people in cars whizzing by. But of course, not much thought was put into developing this area. 

The mighty dollar leads, and greed follows the dollar signs. Forests are felled in the name of development; the Earth, our maternal home, gives in to its children, and life continues. 

Veenu Banga

2/25/2024

12:43 am 

Partly Cloudy

Before we had our phones, every day was a pleasant and unexpected surprise. Of course, one wasn't living in America then. And, of course, in those days, the weatherman was also always wrong. 

Between the Centigrade and Fahrenheit debates, I switched to C from F this past year. I find it more palpable, and switching is easily manageable on the App. This switch is not without its challenges, especially when I try to make sense of the temperature showing indoors, where it's F by default, with no option to switch to C. 

Anyway, here's how it went this past Friday. It was back to the days of not looking out for the weather and I simply went out to harvest some turmeric I've been growing for the past few years. The few leaves of the root that remained above ground and visible were all but dried. It had been growing in two separate large containers. I had fed them both with an adequate amount of seashells and possibly added some sand to their soil to ensure the turmeric did not get soggy, which it had in previous years because I had neglected the harvest. 

The 'partly cloud' was pretty good till the mid-morning, and I started to weed the west side of our house, where the weeds had overtaken the beds, the bushes, and the pots. I had a good rhythm going when suddenly the sun, despite the partly cloudiness of the sky, made its presence felt enough for me to warrant a hat, which I promptly went in and got for myself. 

I had already filled up one bin with dried leaves, twigs, trimmings, and the weeds, mainly the 'stick-tight' that thrives here. Usually, I let it grow, especially in the winter, as I had read it has health benefits (https://www.backyardnature.net/yucatan/bidens.htm ), and it occurred to me that some insects may benefit from it. 

Nature always communicates with us in different ways. While pulling out and uprooting these Stick-Tight plants, specific thoughts came to mind. The weeds and I developed a certain understanding. While I failed to capture every nuance of that weed's personality, it impressed me enough to foray into the pages as I put pen to paper at night:

Today, I took advantage of the Partly Cloudy sky and weeded and cleaned up the whole west side of the house. Harvested Haldi from two pots. One was an old recycling bin. Transferred a citrus growing there into the big round pot where Haldi grew. 

As I was pulling out the weeds, I noticed that in the dry soil, it comes out easily- pull it close to the bottom/ the root, near the ground. Realized it has shallow roots- like shallow people who are the weeds in our lives. But they were harder to pull out in the wet soil because when the ground received water, it fed the roots into establishing themselves. Essentially, the water engages with the earth- so it is with humans.  

We should not engage with the weeds- the narrow thinkers (if they think at all!) the material types, the cautious hypocrites, the scared, the fearful (of what?) - the kind that want to be your best friend because they 'like' you and don’t know about you, and feed preconceived notions. 

Also, these same people, like the weeds, have a vast spread out canopy- their stick-tight seeds ensuring propagation and survival of the species, lots to show, in flowers and foliage, if I may use that word here, but little substance where it counts, at the root. Shallow-rooted, such people like this weed. 

Nature always teaches me. Nature can teach us a lot of all that we need to know. Including patience. Most of all, humility. The dear precious trees. How I hate seeing them being cut or 'cleared' (seriously?!) to make room for things that will not last even a fraction of the life of a tree. If they could talk, what stories could the trees tell us? They would make stellar witnesses in the cause of justice. Perhaps that's why they don't speak. The trees have witnessed the unwitnessable?  

It was a productive Friday work day. I had done some replanting and potting, and while I did water the plants I had caused trauma to, I needed to do more. Instead, I was lazy. 

Fortunately for me, Saturday offered respite to those plants I 'disturbed' on Friday. It rained all day. It did not seem like a happy rain; it almost was a dispirited constant water shedding, like the skies were unclogging. However, nature and plants don't notice niceties, devoid of what must be ego in their parlance and hyper-sensitivity in ours. Nature receives with gratitude; we look a gift horse in the mouth. I can hug a tree and cry with no judgment, just support. 

The lessons from weeding serendipitously also echoed what had earlier come to me with a sudden onset of intense realization and understanding. I spoke it to my heart, spirit, and soul- I want to live a life of excellence. 

Too long have I let go of myself. Too long, too lost. Lost in the company of riff-raff, losing myself in the weeds. Too easily swayed, too readily selling my soul, too neglectful of nurturing my spirit, too dismissive of recognizing the desecration of my spirit. Too much of too much, too little of the little that ultimately matters. 

The entry in my journal reads:

I want to live a life of excellence. What stands in between a life of excellence and a life of mediocrity? Circumstances- but how do we fight them? It ends abruptly. I did not complete my thoughts. 

Serendipitously again, just today, I was thinking, why do I have to fight? I don't like to, so much easier to keep the peace. Please, God, don't let me be born again and have to fight just because that's a lesson I will have to learn because I did not fight in this life. If I don't learn this lesson in this life, in my next life, please give me a companion who will fight with me and for me. That's one of my fears, having to fight- the whole good vs evil saga. 

K asks me to write. I'm still not writing what she wants me to write—the real stories. 

"Do you not write because the writing would be too traumatic for you," she asks. 

Will the fighting resolve the trauma, I wonder? Unless I'm brave enough to fight, I will never know. 

Veenu Banga

February 18, 2024

3:21 am. 

They want to crowd out your best self, because they thrive by overtaking your territory, suppressing your aura. 

A day quite unbecoming of Florida

 Oh, Florida! The Sunshine State? 

What did the heavens pour down upon you today? 

All day! 

A day quite unbecoming of your reputation;

But fret not; the earth was happy.

Quenched, every blade of grass,

Drunk with desire. To Spring forth. 

My mulberry tree, with its tiny fruit

Just budding on its branches, vying for attention 

With the new leaves of tender green. 

However, the tree is not quite green at the edges. 

It's stately old bark, colored and scarred 

By the sun, beating down in the high summer

Which claims Florida for much of the year. 

Seriously, this back-and-forth 

The uncertainty, the reluctance of Spring

And intermittent return to winter,

So unbecoming of you, Florida. 

Yes, I chide. 

Your reluctancy won't allow me 

To keep the doors open, bringing in 

The sounds from my porch and beyond. 

"You're forgetting," I'm told.

"You've been gone too often, too long." 

I'm told, "It stays cold off and on all the way to March." 

Maybe. What's to remember about that? 

Across the oceans, just like here, 

Is it a reluctant Spring? Maybe I am impatient.

"The daffodils we planted are starting to come up"

I'm told. 

"When are you coming?" I feel wanted.

Yes, I remember, in November, planting bulbs.

Earlier splurging at the Tulip shop in Amsterdam,

Going crazy and buying dozens of  bulbs, 

In a dozen varieties.

"When April, with its showers sweet, 

Has pierced the drought of March to the root.." 

I am reminded of Chaucer's opening verse 

Of The Canterbury Tales.

How easily the daffodils flourish! 

They grow a forest wherever they are planted.

Year after year, a riot of yellow, gently bobbing, 

Skimming playfully on the new green grass.

The daffodils herald the Spring. 

As one by one, the other bulbs,

Follow suit, patiently awaiting their turn,

So as not to steal the other's limelight.

Till at last, the Tulips delight,

In colors and forms, sheer delight

The Tulips will close the season. 

The grand finale. With them

The bulbs decide it's time to hibernate

And go back into the womb

Of Mother Earth. Till next Spring,

When once again,

"April with its showers sweet,"

Will soak the earth to the root.

And I will, again, walk barefoot

On the new green, green grass.

Veenu Banga

February 18, 2024

1:25 am.

The daffodils have started to sprout. It's time to head back. Now, one after another, the bulbs will start blooming till the tulips decide it's time for all the bulbs to go back into hibernation. Nature is never impatient. Nature never complains.