Yes.

We really are connected to each other. Of course, through North Country Public Radio, and in so many other ways: we have networks of farmers’ markets, book clubs, the regional public library system; we have museums that tell the story of our physical and human environments; we have Traditional Arts in Upstate New York and lively arts councils in many counties; we have theatre groups, like Pendragon, and cultural organizations, like the Adirondack Lakes Center for the Arts, presenting wonderful events in their home towns and at locations around the region. We have businesses and colleges serving multiple communities.

I’m proud to serve on the board of GardenShare, which is trying to make wholesome, local food available to all people, through hands-on programs and by working to shape the policies that govern agriculture and food. At a GardenShare sponsored event, Table Settings, held last Saturday, I saw a bright example of how we come together to make things happen.

NCPR was media sponsor for the event, and Todd Moe and Joel Hurd helped as emcee and sound mixer respectively. I loved this event. A committed and talented group of people donated time and energy to do something good for an organization that does good 365 days a year. Regardless of my connection to the group, what struck me was how people worked together, joyously and effectively. Here are some pictures from the evening. You’ll see what I mean–just plain folks making something good happen.

While scanning my photos of the event, I came across this one, taken last spring. Seems like a good time to share it with you.

Finally, this morning, Rev. David Blanchard sent Todd Moe this poem which he hopes to read at next year’s “Table Settings.” Thanks to everyone who came together on behalf of GardenShare.

Leeks

Two sticks in drifted snow
mark the trench where I laid the leeks
in cool dirt in October.
Now I dig down through old
frozen crust to damp dark hay
to the thick grey green leaves
of the leeks and pull them
from the piled earth and
shake dirt from their white
hairy roots. They come up
like creatures from under
the ocean. In the half-cold,
half-light the odor of earth
gone all these long months
wraps around me, and it is as if
these leeks have come from
a world where there are great
pleasures of the body, where
the mind grows smaller, where
libraries mold in the dark,
where worms in purple and brown
rule the streets, and the corridors
of power are moist and rich
in a way that radio voices
can’t conceive of, and the talk
is of the thick trunk
of seasons, the nose
of rootedness, the eye
that works its way through,
hair that feels its way,
the skull that follows,
the toad of desire, the beetle
of bone density, the grub
of grief, the larva of longing,
the moon coming up and the quiet
at the end of February.

I pick up the pile of leeks
and carry them to the kitchen.
I wash them clean. I chop them
on the old board. I cook them
in oil and salt. I taste
their great sweetness. I remember
that the earth will hum into spring.

– ABBOT CUTLER

Abbot Cutler is the author of 1843-Rebecca-1847 and The Dog Isn’t Going Anywhere. A third poetry collection is due out in 2011. His poems have appeared in Ploughshares and Blue Sofa Review. He lives in Ashfield, Massachusetts.

Tags: gardenshare