Partner Spotlight: Meet Mara Grey

Partner Spotlight: Meet Mara Grey

“Gardening is an active participation in the deepest mysteries of the universe.” —Thomas Berry

Mara Grey—botanist, Celtic harpist, storyteller, master gardener, and author of The Lazy Gardener and The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Flower Gardening—volunteers as caretaker for the Appletree Garden at Chinook.

When I spoke with Mara in the shade of the old apple tree, our conversation ranged from Chinook history and garden stewardship to ancient languages and the power of story. We spoke of the early garden stewards, like Marybeth Crandall and Wilma O’Nan, and the underlying geometry of the garden paths—three interlocking circles, in the tradition of a knot garden.

“In this garden,” Mara said, “I feel a sense of interconnectedness with the rest of the land. Gardens are like microcosms of dealing with nature.” Discussing what makes gardening “work” or “play,” Mara said she feels the work she does here contributes to the whole organization. “I have a feeling that by bringing the plants here, I’m feeding people. In that way, I do feel a sense of contributing to the work of the Institute. Being here is never work—it’s just plain fun.”

Mara’s connection with nature—both here, under the apple trees, and in other gardens where she works, lives, and volunteers—is enhanced by her musicianship and intercultural experiences. “There are different ways of talking to nature,” she said. “I fell into a certain relationship with nature because I started playing my harp outside. I realized, ‘they like this!’ Music is a language, in a sense.”

Mara’s affinity for heritage cultures took root in her youth, growing up in Hawai’i before it was a state. “When you grow up in a place like that, you know that there’s this other reality around you . . . what I got was a sense of a culture that was present, but which wasn’t mine. I needed something that was, which was why I went to the Celtic.”

In addition to playing Celtic harp, Mara has studied Scottish Gaelic for many years. “There’s a storyteller and weaver named Norman Kennedy,” she told me. “I had a workshop from him once. He said that he has the talent of being able to learn a song or story after just one hearing. He went from the East to the West coasts of Scotland. When these old people found out he could do that, they began to put stories into him, one after another. This was a dying culture. These stories were gone if someone didn’t learn them. He does a lot of passing them on—the weaving, and the songs, and the stories.”

“Learning Gaelic, I’ve found out how different it is to look at the world in a different language,” Mara said. “Instead of saying ‘I’m hungry,’ or ‘I’m sad,’ you say, “there is hunger on me. There is sadness on me. You aren’t IT. You can take it off. And in the Gaelic-speaking communities, reality is pretty flexible. Everybody knows there’s second sight—it’s part of everyday life.”

Mara first came to Chinook through having read a book about Findhorn, and said the garden is a place to encounter things which fall outside the scientific paradigm. “I’m an extremely skeptical person, so the idea of co-creating with nature was strange. It’s taken me 30 years to come to terms with uniting the viewpoints of science and things outside it.” Mara added that she’s also been influenced by a Native American elder, for whom she’s provided transportation to ceremonies for about fifteen or twenty years. “Their traditions have such a long history—they’re grounded in a lot of experience.” Today, Mara sees the magic of the inexplicable through the eyes of her granddaughter, a sometimes visitor to the Appletree Garden.

At the close of our conversation, Mara explained her goals for the garden—one, to build a library of flower essences, with as many kinds of plants in the Appletree Garden as possible. “Each plant gives something to the people that come here,” she said.”I have wild tulip bulbs from the mountains of Afghanistan and Northern Iran—plants from New Zealand, South Africa, Japan, and China. The garden is like the center of a web of relationship, not only with all the people who have worked there over the years abut also with the places that the plants come from.”

Second, Mara said she hopes to leave the garden better than she found it. “When I hand this garden over to someone else, I want it to be as easy care as possible,” she said. “Sometimes that means digging out a bed full of perennial weeds, like quackgrass. It takes time to create a bed you can leave on its own.”

“I fall in love with plants,” Mara said, “Those purple-blue ones . . . wildflowers, Brodeia. I sowed them in the 1980s. I love them.” She went on to say that she doesn’t actually consider herself a great gardener, despite three decades of experience and an extensive resume. “I like wild places more than I like gardens—I like being with plants. But I try experiments, like, ‘if I don’t water this, will it die?’ I’ve learned a lot! It’s play.”

Would you like to make a simple gift to the Appletree Garden?

Mara and her son Ryan, another dedicated volunteer, request donations of rounded stones! Leave any smooth stone, grapefruit-sized or larger, by the garden gate. They’ll be used to edge the garden pathways. Mara also welcomes email inquiries if you have a plant in your garden which you’d like to offer for the “plant library,” or if you’d like to help work in the Appletree garden.

July 3, 2015

Reason to Hope: on parenting the face of climate change

During the Cascadia Climate Collaborative Conference this April, I was invited to submit a testimonial to Conceivable Future, which asks how climate change is influencing womens’ decisions on childbearing. This is that testimonial. —Marnie Jones

As a mother of three, I can’t help wondering what future my children can expect to have. Climate change, ocean acidification, deforestation, and species extinction will radically alter the planet they inherit. Still, I don’t regret becoming a mother. I believe in our power, as a species, to change—and I believe in children as empowered agents of that change. I truly expect that together we can save the world.

I work for a social and environmental justice non-profit which convenes leaders from around Cascadia to talk about the world’s most pressing issues, including climate change. As a result, I’m personally and professionally exposed not only to the horrors of what we’re doing to humans, other animals, and the planet, but also to the beauty, courage, and vision of people who see a different way forward. My children and I feel deeply, personally empowered to make positive change.

As one example, my two youngest daughters went vegan over a year ago. Like Luiz Antonio, who won the Internet over when he told his mother he preferred his animals “standing up,” they made the choice themselves. They based their choices on what they knew about animal suffering and environmental issues, and since then they’ve been outspoken advocates of veganism to their peers, their relatives, and their teachers. They share Cowspiracy DVDs and United Nation reports on livestock emissions like some kids trade Digimon cards. They find it exciting and empowering. When a peer tells them the world is going to be on fire in 50 years (true story) they say, “no, because we’re fixing the world. Here’s how.”

We are living in a period of profound cultural transformation, and adaptation to our changing environment is a personal moral challenge for each one of us. Taking responsibility for what we each buy, eat, use, and discard MUST feature in our evolution as a society. My children want answers today about how to save the planet that they love, and it’s not enough to look to our legislators or our Fortune 500 companies to do the right thing. As a mother and as an Earthling, I sleep better at night knowing I’m doing all I can, right now, to preserve conditions for life on Earth as we know it.

I’ve had conversations with those who wonder if it’s not a mistake—even a crime—to bring more people onto this overpopulated planet, but I don’t share that perspective. I fear that if everyone who cares about the impact of humanity on our planet stops parenting children, then we lose a vital chance to influence the next generation of our culture. We need kids who know what’s going on and know how to help. The harm isn’t in how MANY we are, it’s in HOW we are. We need to face the stark realities: our appetite for meat and dairy is a primary driver of climate change that everyone ignores—are we blissfully unaware, or afraid to change our personal culture and habits? Our hunger for cheap consumer goods is at the expense of other lives. What comes in must go out, and when we throw something away there is no “away.” My children remind me not to buy my favorite snacks when they’re packaged in plastic, and I love them for it. They remind me that I shouldn’t wait for someone else to fix what’s broken—I should fix it myself. They are careful students of life, and when I behave with moral inconsistency I can count on them to call me on it. They demand the kind of integrity this world calls for today.

We must stop indoctrinating our children into violence—into war, into slaughter, into ignoring the suffering that’s on their TVs and on their plates. We need to tell them the truth about the human, animal, and environmental costs behind their iPhones and jeans and hamburgers, and we need to ask them what they would do differently. We need children like my daughters, and like Luiz Antonio, to put us back in touch with our compassionate selves so that we can once again live as members rather than owner-destroyers of the Earth community.

P.S. If this piques your interest, save the date for our upcoming Intersectional Justice Conference at the Whidbey Institute. We’ll be exploring ways to live as compassionate members of a whole-earth community, from March 25 to 27, 2016.

July 3, 2015

Meet Our Board: Spotlight on Jill

We are delighted to welcome Jill Sheldon to our Whidbey Institute board of directors this spring.

Jill has worked in a variety of leadership and development positions in organizations whose work ranges from women’s rights to environmental law and water rights. She’s currently a coach and consultant with Open Road Coaching and Consulting, and makes her home on Whidbey with her wife Dakota, owner of Solid Stone Boxing Gym, and their four-legged family members—Emma the standard poodle, Kona the rottweiler/lab mix, and Jack the cat.

“I’ve always worked in the non-profit sector,” Jill said, “but I found my passion during grad school at the Leadership Institute of Seattle. I’m interested in individual change and transformation, but also group change and transformation. Learning some fundamental principles of how organizations work, the challenges they face, and the development they experience gave me some much-needed perspective.”

Jill has long been connected to the Institute in some capacity, having first attended a retreat here 15 years ago.  “I was blown away by the spirit of the place,” she said. “I remember how peaceful and connected I felt immediately upon arriving. This was a glorious discovery.” Since then, she’s connected with us as a participant in a Pachamama Alliance offering here, on indigenous ways of looking at social justice, and as a member of the 2013-14 Powers of Leadership cohort.

“I was so excited by the invitation to join the board,” she said. “I’ve been incredibly impressed with everything you’re sharing. It makes me feel proud to be a part this organization that is an engaging, creative presence in the world. You’ve gotten really good at talking about things that are on the cusp of our cultural understanding, and still hard to describe.”

Jill’s consultancy allows her to serve a diverse range of needs, from personal and leadership coaching to organizational development work to facilitation of staff and board retreats. In that work, she’s sometimes faced with a situation where people know what they want and where they’re going, but don’t yet have the language to name it. “Hearing how the Whidbey Institute team talks about the cusp of the new world we’re on has been personally rewarding and professionally helpful,” she said.

Jill has been on the board for just one month, and she’s already excited about Development, Strategy, and Gala Committee participation. “I’m so excited, I want to jump in with both feet,” she said. “With so many wonderful people on board, the work is really inviting.”

June 2, 2015

Partner Spotlight: Meet Chris Clark

Chris Clark is passionate about realizing human potential, and he sees an emerging phenomenon wherever he goes—a growing interest in wholeness at work.  “There’s something bubbling up, something capturing people’s attention and imagination. We’re dreaming new dreams.”

Chris, a change management consultant and systems thinker, has been an invaluable collaborator in the Whidbey Institute’s governance and strategic planning work, and a dedicated volunteer since 2013. He’s spent countless hours helping us evolve our staff roles, intra-organizational agreements, and governance processes in order to liberate more human energy in alignment with the Institute’s deep purpose. He’s held a vital role as a sort of “balcony view” strategist—looking down at the dance floor, so to speak, and seeing how the big picture relates to our individual experiences. He sometimes challenges our old assumptions and habits or offers a view not yet considered, and holds a unique ability to name unseen challenges or leverage points—from the subtle to the blindingly obvious.

“I’m naturally someone who sees opportunities to up our game,” he said. “It’s something I do professionally, taking that 30,000 foot view. A lot of leadership is in seeing the larger perspective of what’s happening . . . to orient people’s attention to things they might be missing otherwise.”

During a recent interview, my thanks for the gift of Chris’s time and expertise elicited a laugh. “It’s a gift, but it’s one that gives to me,” he said. “I’m connected very deeply with the Whidbey Institute community—the ‘seekers of bold change’. What the Whidbey Institute offers us is a place where we can both grow and rest; where we can explore things within the organization’s nurturing embrace. This has become a home for my work.”

Through Anthem, his change management and organizational systems consultancy, Chris helps organizations improve team performance, strengthen community engagement, and reinvent structures in order to summon the very best of everyone involved. “The vast majority of people in our culture are disempowered by authority structures. It’s become very easy to abdicate responsibility to lobby for change, especially near the bottom of a pyramid. My work is about helping people take back their initiative,” he said. “I want there to be organizational structures out there that help people—that place leadership capability and decision-making in the hands of more people. What you get, then, is an organization which is more sensitive to changing conditions, and able to respond faster. When people are engaged to bring their intelligence to work, to take responsibility, and to step forward, organizations become more creative.”

Chris has found a kindred spirit in his friend and collaborator Frederic Laloux, author of Reinventing Organizations. Perceiving a cultural shift toward—and a necessity for—organizations which liberate individual purpose and passion in service to the whole, Chris is now lending his expertise to the development of a Reinventing Organizations wiki. In the spirit of empowering individuals to act on behalf of a common purpose, the wiki itself will serve as an example of shared authority. An online community for individuals and organizations doing this work has already engaged about 180 people from five continents—each of them passionate about bringing their whole selves to work on behalf of their own organizations.

The impulse to empower more people through reimagining the structures in which we work came to Chris during five years as a pastor. “I discovered that the tools I had to help people were really inadequate,” he said. “A core group of people were very invested in the church, and among that group there was an incredible rate of burnout. In an organization with a mission about spiritual awakening, I saw that the majority of people were not deeply engaged, but had what I would call ‘consumer’ expectations. I looked around, asking ‘where are people really engaged in a community?’ I discovered that this problem was not unique to the church: it’s a function of our society.”

Chris pointed to the expectations placed on a church leader—from a sparkling moral record to an authoritative presence; from a commitment to the status quo to a willingness to set direction; from visionary heroism to a knack for putting out fires—as symptoms of a societal system out of balance. “In our culture, leaders and managers accept that kind of authority, but they struggle with the consequences. Authority stands opposed to leadership—it keeps things safe, it maintains the status quo. Leadership, by default, destabilizes security. It leads people into new territory.”

“We’re living with the legacy of deeply embedded, complex, industrial age structures—educational, political, economic—and yet we’re discovering that our cultural and societal aspirations grow beyond them,” Chris said. This realization, and the hunger for new and empowering ways of working together, led him into a master’s program in organizational leadership at Seattle University. There, his mentor Phyllis Shulman (now an Institute board member) made the connection between his aspirations and our work at the Institute. “I really wanted to pay attention to places where people could thrive in all aspects of their lives,” he said, “and Phyllis thought the Institute might be one of those places.” Chris joined board member Kate Snider in developing our 40th Anniversary book, and through that project experienced a deep immersion in the Institute’s history.

“I saw evidence of these seeds, planted 40 years ago—bringing people together to pay attention to authentic community life; living in harmony and in right relationship with the Earth; attending to our spiritual needs without dogma—it resonated with me.” In the months that followed, Chris watched as the evolution of our organization paralleled the trajectory of his own professional passions. Together with other key collaborators including Rick Jackson, Barbara Schaetti, and members of our staff and board, he joined us as we studied, tested, and implemented new practices and policies which support our organization in whole-hearted engagement of diverse talents and in greater responsiveness to emerging needs.

The relationship between the Whidbey Institute and Chris Clark has been one of rich mutual benefit. “I strive to help create workplace environments where people can show up more authentically . . . where people are empowered to follow their passion, vision, and mission as individuals,” he said. “By liberating that purpose and passion, organizations really get engaged people—people who are working toward a collective purpose as well as toward their own actualization. That’s happening here.”

“People say [the Whidbey Institute] is a place where the deepest, truest, most essential parts of themselves are welcome. A lot of people are putting their highest and best into service here, and the opportunity to be a part of that is a rare thing.”

June 1, 2015

Highlights Reel from Thriving Communities Conference on Shelter

“What would it take to be a thriving and resilient community, no matter what happens?”

June 1, 2015

Loved, Connected, Alive: an interview with Dan Mahle

As a Whidbey Institute staff member, Dan Mahle strives to coordinate programs which create connection, spark dialogue, and invite authenticity, compassion, and wholeness. I spoke with him recently about his work as facilitator/writer at Wholehearted Masculine, and the ways in which that informs and is informed by his work here.

Marnie: How were you first drawn into your wholehearted masculine work?

Dan: In 2013, I participated in a V-Day rally, Eve Ensler’s One Billion Rising Revolution, to end violence and abuse against women and girls. A number of women dear to me have experienced physical or sexual abuse or violence. Men, too, but especially women. That goes against what I feel is right. As a man, I’m asking the questions, “what is leading to this culture of violence? Why is this normalized? Why is this so common? What are men doing to build something different, to explore new masculinities which have power with rather than power over women and other men?” We need to work to affirm everyone’s basic humanity, worth, value, respect, and dignity, including our own. I was outraged to see this culture of misogyny, violence, and objectification of women and girls.

How has your personal experience of masculinity changed?

Back then, I was pissed off that I had gotten so numb. I didn’t cry for almost 10 years. I forgot how to cry. I didn’t even know how to go there, because of all the ”training” i had had in what it means to be a real man. I thought we needed to detach from our hearts, emotions, and bodies, except as machines in service to our minds. I was disconnected, I was angry, and I wanted to feel. That’s what life is about, and that’s what I’ve been exploring over the past three years, through men’s work and in other ways. I’m allowing myself to get vulnerable, to start feeling again, and to break through that cycle of numbness. I’m coming back into my heart and my body, reclaiming my life force, and no longer living like a robot.

How did you move into your facilitation and writing work?

A big part of my calling, my work in the world, is to share vulnerably and transparently about the lessons that I’m learning. It’s not just about me. In everything I’m learning I’m seeing that it’s not just my own personal problems—I’m exploring the challenges of humanity and the challenges of being a man. I’m seeing that all the learning and healing that I’m doing personally can be offered as a gift in service to other men and other people who are longing to walk a different path in the world.

Can you tell me about how you’re sharing this work?

In addition to writing, I’ve been piloting workshops in Seattle. Transcend the Man-Box, held last weekend, was an exploration of new masculinity for men and males, inviting us to step into our authentic power. I also co-facilitate a gender equity workshop, called Together We Rise: Exploring Gender Equity, Love, and Collective Liberation.It’s for people of all different gender expressions who want to look at what are we told that we need to be, based on the way we’re identified in terms of our gender, and contrasting that with what feels deeply authentic to us. Who are we really, beneath all of these expectations? How do we break down the barriers that keep us caught in these constructed gender norms? How do we embody something different that allows more of who we are to be expressed in the world? Questioning everything, choosing what we love, letting the rest fall away, and filling the new space with something beautiful, authentic, and whole.

Has this work informed how you show up here at the Whidbey Institute, or the inverse?

Yes, definitely. It all starts with the notion of intersubjectivity: it all comes back to Thomas Berry’s quote on “the universe [as] a communion of subjects, not a collection of objects.” What I see in the world is that we learn to objectify ourselves, to objectify one another, and to objectify the earth. That’s why we turn a blind eye to the incredible destruction and pain that we are each a part of perpetuating. When we shift our orientation to a place of intersubjectivity, where we have a reverence and a wonder for all life, curiosity for all people, compassion for ourselves, then a culture of healing, and of love, is possible.

My work at the Whidbey Institute deeply informs my workshops and my writing from that perspective. It’s all about humanizing ourselves and each other—about breaking down barriers to connection with self and with others,  and about taking healthy risks. Getting vulnerable, in conscious ways, allows us to push our edges, grow, and expand who we know ourselves to be. In that process, we relate to others, relate to Earth, and relate to all life with deeper compassion and interest. My work with Wholehearted Masculine informs my work at the Institute as well.

There’s something very fundamental about healing between the feminine and masculine, or healing between women and men. Inside of anything is everything. Our experiences as gendered beings in the world is at the root of both so much hurt and so much joy in our lives. It’s a place of extraordinary possibility for healing & reconciliation, for exploring new ways of being, and for finding wholeness in ourselves.

How does the work in a men’s group differ from a mixed-gender gathering?

I know that men’s work, alone, is not enough. Men gathering with men, women gathering with women, non gender-conforming individuals gathering in those spaces . . . it’s not enough. Ultimately we need to all gather together. But in order to do that, we need to gather in our own spaces as well. Some of what we each experience is so painful, so triggering, that we need to feel a level of safety in order to share our stories that may only come through separating out from the larger community. In that space of safety, I can practice being vulnerable. This not about me learning how to be a man, first and foremost. This is about me learning who I am as a human being. My learning about myself as a man is in service to that deeper exploration of myself as a human being. Men’s work and looking at masculine energy is a gateway into looking at the fullness of who I am and beginning to express that with more compassion, ease, and effortlessness.

How is gender tied to identity?

Exploring gender can be part of anyone’s personal development process, a way of understanding oneself more fully. There’s so much beauty to be discovered in the process of connecting deeply to those energies in ourselves and allowing them space to be expressed, moving through the fear of what will someone think. “Is this OK?” Everything tells us who we should be. Instead, we could try saying, “I have the opportunity to write a new story. All of the wisdom and all the ingredients are already in me. It’s just a matter of removing the barriers to my authentic expression.” It’s not a big mental task to figure out who we are and why we’re here. It’s just a matter of getting out of our own way and allowing ourselves the space to express all of what is within us, not just some of what is within us. We can learn to invite that for others as well . . . to hold space for authentic expression, no matter how “unusual” or “countercultural” or “normal” it might be. There’s a spectrum between expressing what’s expected of us and rebelling against it. Our true and authentic expression, of our gender identity, for instance, is somewhere along that spectrum for each of us in each moment. Rather than rushing to one side or the other, we need to integrate. Fitting in can be stifling, and rebelling and taking a stand for what you’re not can fall short of fully authentic as well.  Find yourself along that axis, in a place that feels deeply truthful to who you are. That is life work that is worth living for.

What’s shifted for you over these three years? 

I spend time trying to breathe and connect to my body. I’m working on not being in my head all the time. It’s really challenging. I’m learning about emotions: what I’m feeling, how feelings arise. Sometimes I can tell I’m feeling something but can’t name it, can’t express it. And then a moment comes when I can say, “feeling sad right now, wow!” Noticing, in itself, is really healing.

Men’s work has been really important—just sitting with a group of guys, and not just talking about sports or politics, but actually talking about our feelings . . . our stories of fear or of joy or of sadness or grief. Just having that visceral sense that we’re not alone, which really helps to counteract the cultural norm of the man as island who doesn’t need anybody. This intense individuality is what we’ve expected from men in our culture—from a lot of women, too, but especially from men. And guess what? It’s not healthy.

Men’s work is powerful because it allows us to see that we’re not alone in our pain or our struggle. We can trust other men. That’s a big one for a lot of people. We can learn from one another’s struggles and mistakes, and not have to make them all ourselves.We can realize that most of us really care for women and children and are deeply outraged by violence and harm, but think we’re alone in that. Through men’s work we come to recognize how vulnerably and imperfectly human we are. There’s a part of each of us who just wants to love and be loved, like any other being. To be courageous and strong enough to share that piece of ourselves? That’s beautiful. It’s incredible when that can happen. That’s the kind of work that I want to be a part of offering in my life.

May 29, 2015

They Bring Joy When they Come: Spotlight on Kris Carlson

On Mondays and Fridays throughout the school year, our heartland sings with the laughter of children. Whidbey Island Waldorf teacher Kris Carlson, whose 3rd graders have just completed a series of cooking and gardening lessons with Whidbey Institute staff, took time recently to speak about his students’ experiences.

He described garden treasure hunts, plant identification games, and other activities which garden manager Abigail Lazarowski designed to hold the attention of his playful, extroverted student group. “We benefited greatly from our time in the garden,” he said. “Abigail is so patient. She fine-tuned the program to meet the children—seeing how they work best, she taught the curriculum while bringing in art, math, and games. They really connected to the Earth, with their hands in the dirt.”

“Children bring something special to your garden,” he said, “ and I think Abigail and Margaret [garden intern] understand that. The kids can be wild and wacky, but they are accepted in the garden and they bring joy when they come.”

Kris explained that tangible skills like gardening and cooking are age-appropriate and directly tied to the 3rd grade curriculum, which focuses on the transition out of the paradise of childhood and on discovering one’s own capacity. After having studied the archetypal fairy tales and the 12th century saints in grades 1 and 2, the students are now exposed to concepts around developing self-sufficiency through a curriculum which includes cooking, gardening, and readings from the Old Testament and other stories from human history.

In the kitchen, Chef Christyn Johnson helped the students learn to read recipes, measure, cook, and bake. Kris said many Waldorf students perform their cooking units in the classroom, but that the relationship between the Whidbey Institute and the on-site Waldorf School provides a special opportunity. “We are so blessed we get to work in that kitchen, with a professional chef,” he said, “and I can’t overestimate the blessing of having that biodynamic garden.”

Kris came to Waldorf teaching by means of what he called “the cosmic 2×4”—a devastating bicycle vs. car accident which injured him badly and held up his career as a commercial faux finish painter. At the time, he was married to a woman whose children were thriving at a Waldorf school in Eugene. “I couldn’t walk,” he said, “so I started doing menial tasks at the school . . . I asked what this was about, and the teacher gave me this big, fat Steiner book, Higher Worlds and How to Know Them.”  The book spoke to Kris’s spiritual and practical sensibilities, and soon he was engaged in a teacher training program onsite. He found the spiritual perspectives of Steiner to be a natural progression from his background in Eastern religious traditions and vedic study, and said his subsequent learning was very soul-nourishing. On the subject of his career trajectory, Kris quotes Wordsworth: “I made no vows, but vows Were then made for me; bond unknown to me Was given.” “I was pulled to it,” he said. “It was truly a calling.”

Kris hasn’t left his painting career behind entirely—in fact, he and his students express themselves in the classroom through visual art. On the day of our conversation, Kris’s chalkboards held his beautiful chalk renderings of Moses and an embattled Goliath. Kris will be leaving the Waldorf classroom this year in order to more fully use his skills in teaching artistic expression to children and adults. His wife Kat Carlson will continue with this student cohort when they return for 4th grade in the fall, while another group of 3rd graders will learn gardening and cooking at the Whidbey Institute.

About his students, Kris said they’ve benefitted from the freedom and acceptance they’ve experienced at the Whidbey Island Waldorf School and at Chinook. His class of 14 includes children with visual, hearing, and learning challenges and an abundance of joy, energy, and curiosity. “One of the things I appreciate about Waldorf education is that it gives children the freedom to be themselves. We are fortunate to have this place where they’re not categorized. These kids love unconditionally, and they are definitely bringing something to the world.”

—Marnie Jones

If you know a child who would like to learn in the garden at Chinook, young volunteers are welcome to participate in Thursday Westgarden work parties with their parents. If you’d like to learn more about Kris or make an inquiry about art lessons or commissioned works, email him here.

May 29, 2015

Laying Down the Welcome Mat

March 27, 2015

The Heart of Seattle: Stories from 23rd & Union

The Voices of 23rd & Union

by Marnie Jones

When I asked Tom Bangasser to tell me the story of 23rd & Union, he redefined the context for our interview. “You can meet with me,” he said, “but you’ll also need to meet with the neighborhood.” At his invitation, we assembled at the Union Street Business Association (USBA) headquarters to talk about a collective dream that turns gentrification on its head. I sat down one February evening with Bangasser as well as architect and USBA advisor Donald King, neighborhood spokesperson Saviour Knowledge, and soul food maestro Helen Coleman. Over the next two hours, I really did meet the neighborhood as community members of several generations entered the room and joined the conversation. Coleman spoke of what the community had lost, while community advocates David Harris and Wyking Garrett joined in and spoke of what they see emerging. Jessdarnel Henton, Coleman’s daughter, came to the table to share both her grief at what’s been lost and her hope for the future.

USBA is one of many neighborhood and community associations operating in Seattle’s Central District. This is their story.

Respect, Transparency, and Trust

Bangasser is one of five family members sharing ownership of MidTown Center, a 106,000 square foot block in Seattle’s Central District—9 parcels, in total, in his family’s ownership since as far back as 1941. He and four siblings—all white—have gradually bought, sold, and traded with 14 others in the Bangassers’ extended family who wanted out of the corner, and now they are holding fast to a dream which differs from the usual model of redevelopment through outside investment. A few black-owned businesses lease space at MidTown Center, but the general impression is one of vacancy, disrepair, and a corner in need of redevelopment. The family is not interested in the development game and wants to sell, but not just to anyone. Tom Bangasser, current USBA director and treasurer, will be moving out of those roles to avoid a conflict of interest as the reality of selling site control—10% ownership—to the Association comes closer. With black-owned small businesses returning, Bangasser and USBA hope to enable the historically-significant neighborhood to finally thrive again.

“It’s an act of faith for my family group to stay with me in this, but we believe we can accomplish everyone’s financial objectives while doing something that’s the right thing to do, and which can potentially have huge impact,” Bangasser said. His ambition, which he shares with everyone who was present, relates to keeping black ownership in the community while bringing businesses back to the corner, replacing idleness and crime with community engagement, and growing the financial credibility of the intersection without the displacement of minority residents which gentrification usually brings. Selling to the community members, rather than a Wall Street investor, looks like the best way forward. While it won’t be easy, there’s a shared conviction that it’s not only possible, but important.

Bangasser pointed to a vital question that’s at the heart of the USBA’s work. “How do you make this neighborhood thrive?” Quoting our mutual friend Jerry Millhon, program director of the Whidbey Institute’s Thriving Communities Initiative, he said, “you have to start with trust, respect, and transparency.  You have to treat people with dignity and a sense of belonging.”

Remembering What’s Been Lost

In order to describe what they’re trying to create together, members of the community started by reflecting on what’s been lost—and what’s in danger of slipping even further away.

The Central District, a traditionally African-American area at the city’s heart, was once known for its theatre, its jazz music, and its pan-African multiculturalism. “Ray Charles played in the Black and Tan,” remembered Coleman, a great-grandmother and restauranteur with deep roots in the community. “I moved here in 1970, and things were alive. We used to go from one club to another, one restaurant to another—now, all you see is vacancy. We need to make it live again.” As Seattle becomes one of the whitest major cities in the United States, this group of neighbors is hanging on to a vision of progress without the erasure of black culture. MidTown Center might provide a place to cultivate their vision.

What’s been lost? The answers range from the practical to the emotional. In a neighborhood known now as much for its shuttered businesses and high crime rates as for its proud heritage as a hub of black culture in the Northwest, people have lost a sense of belonging, a sense of safety, and a sense of ownership. The solutions which have been proposed—and there have been many, through one municipally-commissioned study after another—generally involve outside opinions, outside financing, and outside financial beneficiaries. Bangasser described a hard financial reality facing anyone looking at property- or business-ownership in the Central District.

“In the 1950s, it became very evident that the area was being redlined. There was actually a red line drawn around the area on the map, indicating a community of ‘negroes’.” Bangasser told the story of the District since 1940’s post-war America, when an influx of African-American GIs who had served their country well settled to raise their families here after discharge from Fort Lewis. “Even very recently,” Bangasser said, “it’s been very difficult to get financing for a project in the Central area. Outsiders, primarily white, can get the financing, and they’re buying at significantly cheaper prices. You have to see the role that race plays in this. It’s subtle, and people don’t want to talk about it, so it festers. It’s been festering a long time. People of color are being lost.”

This neighborhood is one of the only places in Seattle where there are even fewer businesses now than ten years ago, and the common solution to that trend—selling to outside developers—won’t serve the people and communities whose heritage this place holds. “We make a distinction between community and neighborhood,” Bangasser said. “Neighborhood is placed based—it’s what we circle on the map—but there are a lot of communities passing through here. These are part of the fabric of this place.” Around the district, communities of Ethiopian, African American, Eritrean, and other heritage convene around shared culture, while Lutheran, Baptist, Catholic, and other church communities convene around shared faith. They struggle, universally, with the financial obstacles to business ownership in a district where it’s hard to get financing and harder to get insurance. Ten blocks away, property values are 400% higher—and ownership is almost universally white.

Donald King points to historic racism and redlining in answering the question of why black families don’t already own businesses and properties in the district. “People ask, ‘why didn’t the African American community just buy property back in the 40s and 50s, like Tom’s family did?’ Even if [historic black residents] had a little money, they wouldn’t have gotten a bank loan.” Today, though the outward signs of racism are more subtle, the legacy of racial discrimination is visible. The financial challenges of establishing creditworthiness and getting insurance in what is considered a high-risk area are almost overwhelmingly high. That leaves the District vulnerable to outside investors with huge cash assets—and to the gentrification and accompanying loss of diversity that’s swept through other parts of the city.

Umoja P.E.A.C.E. Center founding director Wyking Garrett, a passionate young community builder, spoke of what’s being lost not only to the black community but to the city and region as a whole. “Seattle is losing a critical piece of the fabric that makes it what it is—the African American black presence. The Central District has been the heart of the black community in the Northwest. There’s value for the whole city in regenerating this community, and in creating new opportunities with an African diaspora inclusiveness.” Garrett does not underestimate the magnitude of the work ahead, but he and others are already rising to the challenge of becoming an empowered community. “The future can be even greater than what the past has been. Black history—our story, in America—has been one of overcoming great obstacles, and of innovation. I think we have an opportunity to capture that and move it forward in even more dynamic ways.”

Linked Problems with Shared Solutions

Along with vacancy and challenges in financing and insuring businesses, the District struggles with crime—linked problems, with shared solutions. “Safety is a basic, core instinct,” Bangasser said. “Right now, people are feeling unsafe. But maybe if you had a job, you wouldn’t have time to be hanging around. If it paid well enough, you might be able to be in one of these new apartments.” Gesturing across the street, Bangasser pointed to a 92-unit building under construction. Later, he told me I could count the number of minority workers on that particular construction project without taking my shoes off, calling it an example of “cleaning up” without community input. “Ahead of time, there’s all the rhetoric about engaging the community. When it gets down to implementation, almost zero.”

Pointing to the problem of crime, Bangasser explained that a very successful “Hotspot” program of the Seattle Police Department dramatically reduced crime in the area before being abandoned. “They stopped the program because they thought they were done.” This is, apparently, a common problem: programs that help the community in the short term, but which are facilitated by outside entities, often fail when they’re ended after a year or two. What USBA is dreaming of is ongoing engagement, based on the premise of inherent human dignity—engagement lasting not years, but generations.

A New Vision

“The one thing everybody has in common,” Bangasser explained, “is that there are 24 hours in the day. People could put all of their time and energy into this project, and really make it great. From there, you start to see difference—differences in talents, differences in treasury. Some people can bring money to the table, and others have unique skills.” What the USBA has done thus far is build strategic partnerships with other organizations who share the common intention to make this neighborhood thrive, and define goals which will make thriving possible.

“First,” Bangasser said, “we have to address the ownership issue. Otherwise, people really aren’t equal. If someone’s in charge and everyone else works for him, that’s unacceptable. Second, we need jobs—and third, we need to create opportunities.”

To help make ownership possible, the USBA needs to establish site control. “It takes a lot of money to buy the site, but less to get control of it,” Bangasser said. “We call it the 10% solution. That’s about 3 million dollars.” For a dose of perspective, Bangasser mentioned that Seattle is building a $210 million youth detention facility in the same district—a move which has been criticized as deepening the city’s racial divide and offering the wrong answer to the challenges of youth crime. To raise these initial funds, USBA is considering crowd-sourcing investments through a model like Kickstarter or Fundrise.

While some of this $3 million might come from those that think the neighborhood deserves a break, it won’t be an outright handout. “We’re working on a financial packaging to see what’s going to give us the greatest resource of capital and the greatest control over the destiny of how it’s used,” King said. “Those are two things which are usually in opposition to one another.” Addressing the question of entitlement versus empowerment, King asks, “how can we use some of that entitlement philosophy to empower people with capital? Someone might say, ‘I think the Central District deserves a break and I’ll take less interest on my funds’, but it’s got to be a business deal. It’s not charity.”

Beyond site control, USBA members envision not just the purchase and development of the property but also ongoing empowerment of entrepreneurs to start, grow, and sustain their businesses. What the financial realities of this support might be remain unclear, but USBA knows they want to remain engaged for the long haul. “We’d like to see businesses like Ms. Helen’s come back, and we’d like to strengthen businesses that are here,” King said. “Influencing the development of the property won’t be enough.”

In addition to creating a livable economy and a safe neighborhood in the Central District, USBA hopes to restore the community’s sense of pride in heritage. Not far from where we met, the James W. Washington fountain is broken and dry, a symbol of our fading memory of the role of African Americans in Seattle’s development. “This is a legacy corner, and it warrants us ensuring that the legacy is heard,” Bangasser said.

A Pioneering Effort

While Coleman sees the price the Central District has paid—businesses lost, crime on the rise, and “blood, sweat, and tears” expended by many—she looks to the next generations to stand with her in fighting for what the District can become again. “I’d like to be here, for my family’s sake, and build it back up again. We need this. We don’t need to give up, and we deserve to have this.” The next generation, at least in this room, is ready and willing. Jessdarnel Henton, Coleman’s daughter, grew up running a restaurant with her mom and loves the District as the place where she came into her adulthood. David Harris, cultural entrepreneur and engineer with Technology Access Foundation, works with black youth in the areas of science, technology, engineering, and math, while Garrett nurtures youth in the areas of positive education, art, culture, and enterprise through the Umoja P.E.A.C.E. Center not far from 23rd & Union. The vision they share with King, Knowledge, and others is a compelling one, not just for Seattle but for communities everywhere struggling with gentrification.

“There’s an opportunity here to create momentum for the next generation of entrepreneurs, and and sustain those current entrepreneurs who hold this as the center of economic development for the African American community in Seattle and beyond,” Harris said. “We are, in many ways, at the forefront [of this effort]. We are pioneers.”

Saviour Knowledge, the self-professed Guardian of the Corner, spends his days cultivating community at 23rd & Union. He’s become a steward of the neighborhood’s stories, and he sees the promise of a thriving future. “The Central District needs some help,” he said, “but we have a common intention and each day we inch toward the goal of creating a good reality here.”

saviour knowledge portrait by inye wokoma; historic photo courtesy wikimedia commons/seattle municipal archives; other photos courtesy donald king and usba.

March 10, 2015

Remembering Wilma O’Nan

We lost a dear friend and beloved community member when Wilma O’Nan passed away on February 4 at the age of 82. Today, we’re reflecting on her life of compassion and service, and on the vital role she played in the early days of Chinook.

Wilma moved from California to Whidbey Island in 1978 to get involved with the Chinook Learning Community—now the Whidbey Institute. Chinook Co-Founder Vivienne Hull remembers Wilma’s arrival with vivid clarity and humor.

“Back at the very beginning, when we didn’t have a clue about what we were doing at all, I got a letter from this woman who wanted to know what she could do to help. I didn’t even know how to answer it, so I didn’t. It was one of the only letters to which I didn’t even write back,” Vivienne said. “Just a few weeks later, this VW bug drove down the road. It was Wilma. She said, ‘you didn’t answer when I wrote, so I figured you needed secretarial help.’” Wilma worked for Chinook as an employee in varied capacities, including secretarial, for the next six years. At Wilma’s memorial service, Co-Founder Fritz Hull wondered aloud how life would have been different if he and Vivienne had answered her letter. . . “well, we’re new and probably don’t need any help just now.”

The Appletree Garden was Wilma’s special project, and Vivienne remembers how much Wilma helped out on the land as well as in the office. “When she arrived,” Vivienne said, “I had just plowed up the field. It was the first time I did any gardening, and I had planted seven long rows of radishes all at once. She realized we needed help.”

Wilma cared for the Appletree Garden for many, many years as a devoted volunteer, and in 1984 she and her daughter Cathi created Growing Concern, a gardening business. They remained partners in that business until Wilma’s passing.

Cathi remembers her mom’s close connection not only to the Chinook land and gardens but also to the animals which came here with her in the early days. These included Clover, a goat whom she transported from California via VW bug after the previous resident goats passed away, as well as AC and DC, two ducks who would visit during Wilma’s Appletree Garden stewardship to do slug patrol while she worked.

“[Mom] had a story she made up about how her goat Clover came from the planet Clovernia,” Cathi said. “Whenever she turned her head over and looked at us upside down—which she did a lot—that was her trying to fly again, perhaps to return to the home planet!”

Wilma is remembered for her caring nature and her deep love of community and family. “Although the stroke she experienced in 2007 changed her in many ways,” Cathi wrote, “she liked to say that suffering in this world helps to develop compassion in ourselves.” As Wilma’s longtime friends and colleagues in the work of building a better future, we can attest to her great strength of compassion. She will be fondly remembered and deeply missed.

The family suggests that remembrances may be made to the Whidbey Institute’s Appletree Garden which Wilma loved so much, to the Langley United Methodist Church, or to Senior Services of Island County.

March 10, 2015