The Silver Mother Diaries: episode 8


May 6th, 2019


 I’m sitting outside the Silver Mother this evening, and as the wind rustles the tall, old maple trees surrounding the property, I see the sun fade west through the crevices in the backyard’s wooden fence.

I felt like a glass of rose in the backyard tonight. Sparkling rose? Even better. My little speaker plays my new favorite summer vibe playlist: Childish Gambino, Solange, Roy Ayers, etc.

After getting the garden beds in order, my property mates and I began planting our first starts – kale, broccoli, lettuces, strawberries, and herbs. Tomatoes, corn, beans, and squash are next. There is a tiny potted garden we planted in front of the Silver Mother, and the apple, rose, and dahlias have begun sprouting – adorning the Airstream with their leafy green stems.

Each week I help harvest fresh eggs from our chickens, and soon the peony bushes will be in bloom, and we’ll have one of the most beautiful, most expensive single stem flowers at our fingertips.

We are about to enter the Silver Mother’s best seasons, Spring and Summer.

It’s a glorious feeling to have the trailer windows open all day and night long, and the morning and evening light is both comforting and inspiring. I was told recently that writers need natural light. It’s true!

Spring has proven to be an exciting and busy time, but also a challenging one. The literal growth spurts of life (work, home, social life, relationships) keep one both thrilled and exhausted at the same time. Environmental justice work continues to fill me with hope and despair, love and disgust. Romance follows suit. Like Spring’s finicky weather – hot, cold, rain, shine – life is similar with its extremes, ebbs and flows. As uncomfortable as these transitions can be, it’s growth that truly happens in these in-betweens.

My Spring is full of this life in the in-betweens, and tonight, I am embracing this sunset, this shine, not taking for granted the storm clouds that will most likely roll in a day or two from now.

Thank you Portland.

Dez Ramirez