Spirits rise around harvest-time, when material growth comes to an end. Space opens for a change of pace. Folks turn inward.
This pattern predates the chamber of commerce by longer than anyone remembers. With the arrival of autumn on the Oregon coast, minds clear. Tourist traffic chills enough to reassemble resident wits. October’s sun sets honey-gold gems into beaded days of rain that refill our water table. Beaches beam. Forests glisten.
Now, what shall we make of ourselves?
Art is always part of the answer for local weaver Debra Carnes and her friends at the Tolovana Arts Colony. Deb created a colorful walk-in sculpture of bamboo and discarded maritime rope to include in the Earth and Ocean Arts Festival — a new annual event hosted by the Cannon Beach Gallery Group around the time of the fall equinox.
I love when art expands cross-cultural awareness. In that sense, the personal context and timing of Deb’s installation moved me to muse on human connectivity. Her sculpture called to mind a harvest holiday that emphasizes generosity amidst transience, a worthy theme for folks who tend the tourist economy.
It’s a Jewish holiday called “Sukkot.” Each celebrant family constructs a small enclosed structure called a “sukkah,” or booth, that’s covered in plant materials. Such structures recall transient lodgings that have been used throughout history by agricultural workers or migrant refugees.
I’m not Jewish, but I was raised with many of the same faith-filled stories that informed the upbringing of Jewish friends. These stories teach about hospitality, justice, mercy, and humility. The first of these moral attributes includes the other three. It merits special reflection for people whose livelihoods are linked with the hospitality industry. People like Deb and me.
As a coastal merchant I’m perpetually grateful for visitors who spend money in my bookshop. I know Deb feels equal appreciation for folks who buy her beautiful baskets. Same goes for gallery owners who sell them. Yet there’s far more to local exchange than the sum of material transactions.
“This is a collaborative project,” Deb said in the weeks leading up to the installation. “I hope other folks will feel inspired to participate and help with the weaving. It strengthens community when we make art together.”
Sukkot reinforces the truth that people are connected through common needs. Propertied divisions of class diminish as people construct humble temporary huts. The end of the growing season, and approach of winter, is a perfect time to acknowledge that we’re all in this together. That theme of inter-dependence expands to every corner of creation, according to Rabbi Arthur Waskow, founder of The Shalom Center.
“Jewish tradition teaches that through Sukkot we seek the just sharing of Earth’s abundance,” writes Rabbi Waskow, “not only for the Jewish people but also for the ’70 nations of the world’ – that is, all the communities of humankind. We propose to make this vision real by sharing with other spiritual, religious, and ethical communities the prayers and actions that can work to heal what Pope Francis called our common home, all Earth.”
Deb didn’t envision her woven sculpture as part of a worldwide healing connected with Judaism. The structure was displayed on the beach for just one weekend, then it was dismantled and used in concert with other art exhibits. Yet everyone experiences artwork differently, and Deb patiently listened to my cross-cultural ramblings as I and others helped with the assembly.
Deb amazes me, frankly, because she spearheaded this project amidst a busy schedule of cleaning houses, making baskets, and serving veterans at the American Legion. She’s a worker-bee in a local economy that makes room for moneyed vacationers yet often fails to provide affordable housing for residents who care for them. Recently Deb was thrilled to find a secure place to rent, after moving 11 times in the last 13 years.
I have it much easier than Deb, and she has it easier than others, like my friend Kevin. Years ago Kevin managed a cheap guest house south of Cannon Beach. When the property was sold Kevin became homeless and was forced to endure several stormy seasons without secure shelter. Over time the lifestyle took a toll on his health. Last summer he underwent heart surgery and spent many weeks in a recuperative care facility.
Yesterday Kevin walked into my shop, damp and bedraggled. He had a place to stay for the night, but after that he’d be on the streets again. Our spare room and bathroom at home aren’t functional right now, so Kevin and I got on the phone and tried to navigate Oregon’s frayed social safety net. No luck, today I’m trying again.
This evening Yom Kippur begins. I understand there’s a tradition of apologizing to folks who’ve been hurt by our actions over the past year. Seems to me that practice would be well-observed by everyone, regardless of religious upbringing. I told Kevin I’m sorry society is so messed up, and recommitted myself to making a difference.
We’re all artists. Some listen and weave, some farm and cook, some remodel homes, some stitch words together. Let’s gather up our creative talents and make humankind more hospitable, so next year we’ll look back and know we’ve grown our capacity to love. That’s the only kind of growth that truly matters in the Book of Life. May it continue long after this harvest season.
I thought about my homeless friend while doing farm chores out in the cold rain on the evening after this piece was published. Kevin’s health is so poor that prolonged exposure to foul weather could kill him. His phone was barely working, but I was able to finally reach him around 10 pm. Disheartened to an extreme, he refused the offer of a room. So I prayed during the night, and was grateful to learn he was still alive the following morning.
Throughout the day I tried to find him an affordable option for short-term lodging, contacting knowledgable folks in the area. Keep mulling over a problem and solutions often arise. So it happened I was able to find a warm bunk where Kevin could escape another cold night, with the possibility of a longer stay if necessary. And during the search I made several good connections with folks who care about this problem, including one woman who works on preventative care for a public health agency. She was on her way to deliver our friend a sleeping bag (to replace the one someone stole) as we spoke by phone about broader possibilities for solutions to the homeless crisis. At some point I mentioned that it was Yom Kippur, qualifying the fact with “I’m not Jewish, but…”
“Well I am,” she said. “Thanks for reminding me. It’s not sunset yet.”
And as those beautiful last rays flashed over the ocean, I stood by a beachfire with loved ones, thankful for a good day.
“Let’s gather up our creative talents and make humankind more hospitable, so next year we’ll look back and know we’ve grown our capacity to love.”
I believe that humanity is so young, but hopefully evolving, in its capacity to love; I believe so many miracles await once a collective threshold is passed. It’s not just the physical acts of care that may present miracles, but the love transcending space and time and altering all of our realities in magical and beautiful ways — things we can’t even begin to imagine. I’d like to honor you and everyone else, known or unknown, seen or unseen, who challenges themselves to love more when it’s not so easy to do so. It changes everything even if it isn’t readily apparent.
The forest will triumph!
Much love.
Right on KN! Thank you so much for your beautiful words!
Watt!! This ties in so well with the conversation we were having about art at the Warming Center, and how making art together shifts dynamics of power. I have to sit and chew on these ideas for a little while, but in the meantime, thanks again for the fodder for thought.