Do you ever ask yourself whether or not you really want whatever it is you think you want? Whether that “whatever” will make you more content? I believe the world would be a better place if people asked themselves that question on a regular basis. Maybe I'll begin a series of blogs with it. It's one I'm always asking myself, even for small things.
Last Tuesday the weather report made me wonder whether or not I secretly hoped it would rain so I wouldn't have to sit at my
Grass Roots table at National Night Out. Over the past several weeks, I had lined up a half dozen people to keep me company, Linda C had promised a bouquet to brighten the table, Kate T was bringing her PESTICIDE FREE signs, Tom C had supplied me with booklets on creating rain gardens and flyers about rain barrels and disconnecting downspouts, Carol C had told me where to order native plant catalogues, I had flyers about pesticide risks, about 2-4 D, about alternate lawn care, I'd bought 100 hangers for people to leave on the doorknobs of neighbors who don't know that their pesticides sicken and kill more than pestiferous weeds.
And then our daughter mentioned that Tuesday was the best night for our families to have dinner together since all eight of our grandkids were in town. I had to say no, it's National Night Out.
But I'm doing this for our grandkids, and everyone else's. Even for the lawn pesticide sprayers, who are twice as likely to get Parkinson's disease, thanks to their hatred of dandelions. Even for all those dog owners whose pets will develop fast-growing tumors. So I didn't want it to rain. Educating people about the risks is one way I can at least make a dent in a practice that's dangerous to humans, pets, and wildlife, and makes sense only for lawn care and chemical companies.
And it didn't rain. We set up the table with my purple leafy tablecloth, my Grass Roots sign (Let's keep our roots non-toxic) with my paintings of the lake (Let's keep our lake non-toxic), Linda's wild bouquet, Kate's bright yellow signs, flowery brochures, door-hangers, and a sign-up sheet. And more people came than any other year, young and old, friends and strangers, children attracted by the child's drawing on Kate's sign. They took every rain-garden pamphlet, almost a dozen pesticide-free signs, about 15 native plant catalogues, lots of flyers and brochures. Why this sudden surge of interest?
Part of it was perhaps due to the grant Shorewood received last year to disconnect downspouts, supply rain barrels, and install rain gardens in the northeast quarter of the village. I suspect much was due to global warming. Environmentalists have been warning about warming for years while corporations have been trying to convince everyone it doesn't exist. Now it's so blatant it's hard to deny. People might realize that if global warming is true, maybe other equally flimsy bills of goods are being sold to consumers, maybe these chemicals aren't as safe as corporate web sites want us to believe. Cecelia, who sat at the table with me, said she's noticed that there are less treated lawns when she walks to work at UWM. I was excited about Shorewoods’ enthusiasm for dealing with this issue. And about the event itself, the friendliness, the feeling of community.
A little later that evening my New York daughter-in-law brought their dog, Fifi, over to stay with us, and I took her (Fifi, that is) for a walk. What lawns were treated, what lawns weren't, where were the tell-tale weeds? It seemed impossible to find a safe route for Fifi. Even with the soot, the exhaust, the traffic, she's safer in New York City!
