remembering 2010

Midway through December, I found out about a writing project called Reverb 10. It was billed as an “online initiative to reflect on [the past] year,” according to the website at http://www.reverb10.com. I’m typically not terribly fond of these kinds of things, but this one was different because it seemed thoughtfully and carefully done. Each day during December, a writing prompt, designed to get participants to consider and examine the past year, was generated. I received each day’s prompt as an email from about December 13^th onward, and I spent a few minutes from time to time pondering it. Many days, I even made a few notes about it in my journal.

There was one prompt that caught my attention and rolled around, niggling my brain. It was the one for December 15. It read, “Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010. (Author: Patti Digh)”

I wasn’t at all capable of doing that task in five minutes, so I had to change the rules. My prerogative, of course, as it is my blog. The question became, then: What won’t I forget about 2010?

That’s easy: the oil spill. At turns, the Deepwater Horizon oil blowout made me cry and made me rage, often inarticulately. It will be the hallmark of 2010 for me. This was my reaction to it then; it remains my reaction to it now, especially as it seems to have fallen off most people’s radars as quickly as it appeared.

Shame, of course, on those who are most culpable: British Petroleum and the US government. But shame, too, on those of us who took solace in the fantasy perpetuated by the media that most of the oil, the estimated 5 million barrels of oil, that gushed out of that hole in the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico for four months, has simply vanished. Shame on those of us who believe that this oil no longer presents any lasting danger to the shorelines of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Florida, or to the wider ecosystems of the Gulf and its neighboring waters. I urge you to read, and, yes, reread, Terry Tempest William’s essay, “The Gulf Between Us,” in Orion Magazine. She says, “To bear witness is not a passive act.” Bear witness. Do it. Do something.

Beyond oil, what I won’t forget about 2010, first and foremost, is that it was the year I revived my blog and began writing, really writing, again. There is much with which Michael helped me in this regard, and it wasn’t simply technology.

What else I won’t forget: The connections I began to make with other women writers. Sojourning on Deer Isle, on the Maine coast, with my family. Walking in my first 5k. Hearing (and seeing) Mary Oliver read her poems aloud at Wellesley College. Hearing Ms. Oliver read “Wild Geese” in That Voice, older and slightly cracked, but still so strong, was a gift without measure.

Seeing our first wind turbines, rising unexpectedly above the trees, while Michael and I we hiked one fall day at Wachusett Mountain State Reservation in Princeton, MA. The earthquake in Haiti. The flooding in Pakistan. The hundreds of thousands of people affected in both places. Participating for the first time in Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) with Springdell Farm and enjoying an entire growing season of local produce. Not worrying about contaminated eggs.

My parents’ 50th wedding anniversary. The New England March flood. Taking photos of the flooding in our area. Hiking through the enchanted Goose Cove woods across the sandbar to Barred Island. My 78-year old father falling off a ladder while trying to top a tree. Yes. Luckily, he is neither dead nor paralyzed. The deaths of two farm friends: Grampa Gerry, who managed the CSA pick-ups every week at Springdell Farm with a story and a chuckle and reminded me so much of my own grandfather Charlie, and Lyn Harris, the orchard man and owner of Autumn Hills Orchards. Both will truly be missed. The blogs I visit everyday or at least every week. Tennessee floods. Oklahoma tornadoes.

Writing some more. Meeting a long-time blogosphere friend and her dog. Going to NYC with her and meeting another blogosphere friend, while making some new friends. Complicated, but so good. Going to the top of the Empire State Building for the first time. Creating TintypesDigital LLC with Michael. Seeing Ground Zero for the first time since 9/11. Spending a glorious week with my sister and her children in our own old childhood haunts in NJ. Becoming friends with some great writers online. You know who are you are, and I thank you.

Eyjafjallajökul, the Iceland volcano, and all its ash. More writing. My New York Times Moment in Time. Losing a friend. Migraines much worse, a little better, status quo, a little better, a little better again, a little worse. A net gain, overall. Writing one poem. Sharing beloved Pine Meadow Pond with you, my readers. Woodpeckers outside my windows. Hal Borland.

Finally, I will not forget the coyotes ushering in the New Year as only they could. They sang it in on the Songlines, the Dreaming tracks. Utterly unlikely, I know. Yet, early New Year’s Day, I was dragged out of a deep, dark sleep by their song, which was far more compelling than any ball dropping in Times Square.

What mattered to you in 2010? Let me know in the comments.

Happy New Year from Pine Meadow Pond. As we head into 2011, may you find your own songlines ¹ and Dreaming tracks.

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Tagged as: birds, blog, blogging, Canada geese, coyote song, coyotes, CSA, Dreaming tracks, family, father, friends, grandfather, Gulf Coast, Maine, Mary Oliver, New England, New Jersey, New Year, oil spill, Pine Meadow Pond, songlines, writing