Interdependence Day

                                                       Interdependence Day

              Ashes settle on Quilcene Bay, acrid gunpowder seeping through the bedroom screens where our two cats huddle in terror under the bed:  Independence Day.  Few people call July 4^th “Independence Day,” preferring. “The Fourth of July,” a fiery celebration, rather than a recognition of a significant event in our nation’s birth. It has become the night when all are free and independent to explode whatever they have purchased, usually at discount stands in a nearby Native American reservation, (irony intended).   It appears that Independence has morphed into “my privilege to declare my freedom with explosives.”

            Could we take the notion of Independence back to the birth of the nation?  From whom did the colonists want to be independent? The despotic King of England. Did the colonists want to cut off trade in tobacco and tea?  Of course not.  The colonists were dependent on trade.  Was the revolution waged as an Independent battle?  That is, did Massachusetts ever think of going it alone?  Not in a thumping heartbeat.  The colonies depended on each other to keep the stars overhead of one as well as the other, until they wove a common galaxy in the new United States flag.

            I love the evolution of language, — how “nice” in Shakespeare’s time meant silly, and now connotes kindness.  So, what about Independence in 2018 America?  The current president is off to Make America Great again.  In his mind, that means Independent of commitments to stand side-by-side with countries that have lain their young on battlefields years before we acknowledged that Germany or Japan may be dominating the planet. Have we ever acknowledged our dependence on England or France? Rather, our country has cast ourselves as the great liberators, the Independent nation on whom the rest of the Free World depends.

 For many, Independence has come to suggest self-sufficiency.  How many men (yes, it is more of a male thing) have boasted that they “pulled themselves up by their own bootstraps?” My love for figures of speech intrigues me to imagine some dude leaning over his cowboy boots and tugging on those side-leather extensions until he becomes entirely erect, feet shoved into the narrow toes, head shoved high into a ten-gallon hat.  Under that hat he has not imagined the person who made the boots, or even the parents who, at the very least, fed him for his early years, and likely purchased the first boots for his tiny toes.  No sir, he did “it” all alone, whatever “it” is.

            It is time to assure our pets they are safe to come out.  It is time to trade in Independence Day for Interdependence Day, a time to celebrate how one gift, one gesture of kindness, fulfills another person’s life. The farm-bountiful Chimacum Valley is a testament to Interdependence.  Soil rich, green pastures are watched over by the snow-topped Olympic Mountains.  That valley could have gone the way of flat valleys East of Hood Canal and become a shopping mall. However, the Jefferson County citizens hailed their interdependence with agriculture. The Jefferson County Land Trust, supported by nature-loving citizens, funded small organic farms.

             In an abandoned shed at the crossroads between the town of Chimacum and those farms, citizens chanced a country farm stand, a place where farmers could sell their produce, where citizens could buy fresh food, where young people could find jobs in an employment-depressed community.  For eight years, the farm stand has expanded: fresh eggs, vegetables, plants, ice cream, pastries and bread.  The founders loved the gifted farmers of the area and wanted them to make a good living.  They cared about the youth who needed jobs.  They valued a local economy.  A “local economy” is not the same as an “isolated” economy.  To celebrate success, the farm stand owners decided that the week after the 4^th of July,  they would declare an Interdependence Day.  Over eight years, the celebration grew too large for the farm stand and its pebbled parking lot.  The party moved over the intersection to Finn River Farm and Cidery, today,  a million dollar business that started because one farm family and the Land Trust figured out a way to acquire land for orchards, and farm buildings for cider tastings and casual dining adjacent to fields along the salmon-running Chimacum creek  — where families could toss horseshoes, or play shuffleboard,  while local musicians tune up their fiddles in what once was a feeding trough for pigs. 

            Last Saturday, Allan and I sat at a round table we shared with new friends.  We drank cider, ate pizza and watched parents and children line up for the talent show.  Sitting under the late afternoon sun, families and friends applauded as each child stretched to the microphone with a ukulele, harmonica or their own sweet voice.  The audience whistled and clapped.  Children need that applause because they are growing.  They are growing, not by themselves, but with the love and support of that community on which so much depends.

While my musical nostalgia embraces Frank Sinatra, it is pleasing to imagine Old Blue Eyes stepping up to the Interdependence Day microphone to belt out, not ”My Way,” but “Our Way.” Interdependence Day — a day of music, good food, and connections with others who love life — not to be better than any other community, not to be proudly separate, but to be comforted in our connectedness.

Author: Mary After Seventy

I am a retired teacher, poet, community volunteer View all posts by Mary After Seventy