Planting Our Gardens

This was a week of planting flowers. 

A few days ago, I’m able to tend some flowers in our town’s community garden. Over a cup of coffee, a young man and I talk about changing attitudes in this community. Two street preachers have periodically shown up on Main Street, condemning homosexual love, accosting young people, telling them they are going to hell.  

One brave high school girl made a sign, and stood next to them on the street corner, contradicting their views. Her hand-lettered sign spoke of the idea that love is the highest human value, that everyone should be able to love who they choose to love, that homosexual love is an aspect of Christian love and compassion.  

She was joined by others, and a Facebook group was created, #TillamookForLove, its members now close to 3,000. The preaching and the counter demonstrations became the talk of the town. The young girl’s actions were mentioned around the world, tweeted by Ellen DeGeneres and becoming a featured story in the Huffington Post.  

The young man I had coffee with joined the girl and her supporters, taking a public stand on an issue dear to his heart.  As often happens in a small town, and across America, people criticized him, condemned him, telling him he’s a sinner because of what he is willing to say. His job was at risk for what he believed in, what he spoke about on his own Facebook page.

Yes, fear and bigotry and discrimination, right in his face.  Change his opinion or lose his job. The old beliefs, the old discriminatory, bigoted ways aren’t just something to talk about, not just some textbook First Amendment clash between freedom of religion and free speech. Now, it’s seeing the reality of imposing one’s own religious beliefs, and beliefs about who you can marry, to the point of crushing someone else’s right to their own opinion, to the point of getting fired.

Our coffee cools as we wrestle with his story, his pain and anguish, his moral dilemmas hitting his wallet and his conscience.  Being called out for what you believe in and threatened with losing his job, his challenges and choices aren’t just an academic debate. He’s on the battlefield, and the spears and the clash of swords on the front lines aren’t confined to a history book. The blood being shed is real.

Bigotry and fear run deep in our little town and across our country. He’s still in shock about how deep the cancer grows, how quickly the moral question got personal. The ugliness is something we both don’t like to see, don’t like to admit is thinking that is all too common. What is the price of his own conscience? 

Yet, he knows his own mind, and he knows his standards of ethics and morality. Quietly, firmly he speaks his mind, knowing that he can sleep well tonight, knowing he made the right call, knowing that his beliefs are truly his own, that getting fired for what he believed in was really the best response to his boss, his own epiphany for what we are facing.   

I shake his hand, seeing real courage across the table, feeling proud that he knows himself well enough to know his own mind, that he’s confident enough to follow his Truth, and live according to his own heart. 

This flower garden is growing well.  The weeds have been called out and named. Weeds are being pulled and beautiful flowers have been planted. Strong plants send their roots deep into the soil of this young man’s heart, his morality strong and fertile. 

Today, I plant some flowers of my own, going to a nearby prison and planting flowers inside the fence, behind the locked gate that slams shut every time I leave. 

The young men I visit, several other volunteers, and I weed flower beds. We work on setting the supports for a new arbor in fresh cement, finish the week’s projects, and tidy up the garden. This weekend, the young men will host a Family Day, with food and games, and tours of their garden. Proudly, they will show off their hoop house, their raised beds and chickens, showing off all the growing that has been going on.  

The youths clean up the garden and carry out their tasks, making the place shine, their flowers and vegetables thriving under their careful and meticulous gardening skills.  They are learning a great deal in their class, where they are studying a wide range of subjects.  I help correct their homework, and work with them, one on one, as they delve into the hands-on work of both the academic work and their hoop house and raised bed projects.  Their work is top notch, and their gardens reflect the pride they are taking in their agricultural work, and the rebuilding of their lives. It is garden work on many levels.  

We work happily together, asking questions, sharing our knowledge, expanding our curiosity about how sunshine, dirt, seeds, and tender care can produce vigorous growth.  The young men ask great questions, get their hands dirty, and do the weeding, pruning and fertilizing they need to change themselves, and move on with their lives, becoming healthy, and vigorous young men.

I’m given the task of adding several flats of marigolds to some bare spots in the flowerbeds. I create my own slice of Eden, being a role model for the young men, and adding some beauty to this world behind the fence and the barbed wire. A young man takes the time to admire my work, and ask me some questions about pruning. Our talk goes deep, until I answer what he is really asking.  

Lives are changed here. I’m thankful I’m able to dig my trowel into the receptive soil of these young men, and plant some flowers.  

This week, the gardens of our community have needed a great deal of work. Hard decisions have been made, and the spade work, hoeing and planting have made us sweat.  The gardeners have new blisters, some new aches and pains.  We’ve pulled the weeds and planted new flowers, and we are ready for a little more sunshine and truth in our lives.  

—-Neal Lemery, May 29, 2015

Gathering At The Tree Stump

He knelt down by the fresh stump, his finger counting the rings.  

“Thirty seven,” he said.  

The group of young men talked about the tree that had stood in the small grove of pine trees in the prison yard. I asked them to look at the tree stump, and the story it told about the life of the tree, planted when this youth correctional camp first began, the tree a witness for all the young lives that had been transformed here. 

They were astonished that tree trunks had rings, that the rings could tell the story of the tree, of winters and summers, good years, and lean, of the fertility of the soil, the amount of rain.  Other young men reached out, too, touching the rough wood cut by the chainsaw, feeling the sawdust, the ooze of the pine pitch.  

“Smell it, taste it if you want,” I said.  “You can taste the freshness of pine.”

Only one man was brave enough to take me up on my offer, touching his finger to the fresh gob of pine pitch, his eyes widening when his tongue confirmed my opinion.

“This is where turpentine comes from,” I said.  

His puzzled look told me he had no idea what I was talking about.  

“Turpentine.  Paint thinner.  It comes from pine trees.”

He nodded, taking in the new concept, gaining a new appreciation of the trees.  Until now they just offered shade, where young men could gather for a conversation, maybe a visit with family on a sunny day.  Three times a day, on the way to chow, they passed by these trees. 

These trees were just familiar things, ordinary pine trees, until we stopped to count the rings and stick fingers into pine tar.  

We talked about the pine tree’s story, how it had thrived its first five years. Then, the other trees started to shade it and compete for nutrients.  We looked, seeing how the growth slowed, the rings tight in its final years.  History was being told in a new way.  

We had spent the morning talking about plants and gardening, how to think about designing a place of beauty in the world, a place of quiet and growth, places of new beginnings.  Their questions of their teachers showed their eagerness to learn new ways of nurturing a garden, to make something more beautiful through their work.  

In the greenhouse, they had repotted young seedlings, making way for tender young roots to grow bigger, helping the coming summer’s vegetable garden prosper by their early spring work on the  potting bench.  

With cut down cardboard boxes and potting soil, and bits of plants cut from the teacher’s garden, they fashioned their visions of what their own gardens and yards would be.  Pebbles and colored stones became rock walls and paths, and tiny paper cups were ponds and pools. Their dreams came to life. Proudly, they showed the rest of us how they wanted their homes would be, how they would bring beauty and nature into their lives.

While we made labels for seedlings, and chose the plants that needed repotting, several young men and I talked about our own lives and why we were gardeners, how that job fit into our lives, of pruning and weeding, and choosing the right soil and fertilizer for our journeys.  

Looking at the stumps and the remaining trees, we talked about the planters of the trees, what they envisioned, how they planted the trees, what they wanted to accomplish.  We talked about why we plant trees, and how we care for them.

When someone mentioned nurturing young lives, the young men silently nodded.

As rain moved in, we left the pine tree stump, and the rest of the pines, having new answers for how the trees came to be there in the prison yard, and how the remaining trees were going to grow.  One man turned back, looking at the stump, his hand rising to his mouth for one more taste of the pine.

He smiled, and stood just a little taller.  

4/4/15

Apples and Young Men

I was there to teach, to demonstrate how to care for apple trees, getting them ready for a season of growth, of new fruit.  The young men gathered around me, curious about the sprayer I had brought, my long plastic gloves, my eye goggles.  

Usually when I come to the youth prison, I bring coffee and food, and visit with one of two young men, listening to their stories, giving them a bit of direction and encouragement, trying to help them move on with their lives.  Sometimes, I bring my guitar or a book.  Sometimes, I bring my drum and listen to their worries and hope in a drumming circle, connecting with them in a deep, intimate way, the drum beats opening all of us up to our spiritual paths.  

Today, though, I am the gardener, and so are they.  They gather around a big work table in their greenhouse, all the shelves and plant tables filled to the brim with trays of their seedlings and cuttings.  Eagerly, they show me what they’ve done, what they’ve planted, techniques they’ve learned to bring forth new life.

The chickens they’ve raised from eggs are now about to lay their own eggs.  They tell me the stories of each of the hens, and how they’ve grown.  The chickens are now a big part of their garden, eating scraps of lettuce, decimating slugs, and adding their nutrients back into the garden soil.  

The circle of life is vibrant here, everyone involved in the daily routine of new life, hands on experiences with dirt, manure, sunlight, new plants, harvest, decay, renewal.  

Their lives, too, nourished, weeded, fertilized, pruned and guided into healthy new growth, strengthened by the sunlight they are now letting into their lives, becoming strong, healthy men.  I see smiles and bright eyes, as they tell me about their plants, their chickens, this place in the world they have made their own, a place of beauty and growth, of new life.

I talk about apples, how humans have tended them for thousands of years, continually improving them, new varieties, new techniques.  There are stories of grafting, pruning, thinning, making living things thrive because of a person taking a little time to care.  

I talk about disease and blight, of the need to prune out the parts of the plant that were harming the health of the rest of the tree, of adding lime to the soil, to help the tree thrive, to yield juicier fruit, growing stronger.  Today, I’m attacking fungus and bugs, things that are hard to see, but still harm the tree.  There were nods of understanding when I weave the care of apple trees into our lives and our dreams.

Eagerly, they watch me spray their trees, explaining each step, why I’m doing what I’m doing, helping to grow healthy trees, bring forth a bigger harvest, make this part of the world just a bit better. Their questions are thoughtful, to the point, raising issues I hadn’t thought about.  Together, we explore new questions, new solutions.  We are all students here.

They’re orchardists of their own lives, and the concepts of opening something up to more sunshine and fresh air. Thinning out disease and refocusing energy are familiar ideas.  

These men are gardeners of their own lives.  Their questions and our discussions about apples teach me about the real agriculture that is going on here, behind the fence that surrounds their home.  

“I learned to take care of a garden.  Now I can take care of my life,” a young man said not long ago to one of the teachers there.  

That wisdom helped him in the weeding and pruning of his life.

His story, told while we are snacking on some of the vegetables they had grown, brings nods of understanding from the young men there, gathered around the table.  It is a lesson they know well, a way of thinking that is part of the routine, part of what they do every day when they water and tend their plants, feed their chickens, and make plans for how their garden would grow in the coming summer, and the summer of their own precious lives.    

Just As, a Review

My friend, Julius Jortner, just published his first book of poetry.  Just As is a treasure.  It is available at Amazon.

Here's the review I just posted on Amazon:

Julius’ poems invite me into the moment, to be with what I might have thought as ordinary, simple, not compelling. Yet, his poet’s eye sees a gem, something of great and simple value, causing me to pause, and be caught up in what he has noticed.  I linger, and learn to savor the moment.  He takes his photographer’s eye, and his engineering mind, and lures me into what I never would have noticed, never would have experienced, but for his invitation.

Those who know Julius and have heard him read his poetry will find even more new riches here. And, for those who don’t yet know the voice of this quiet, thoughtful, and gifted poet, you will find a feast of delight, and experiences inviting you to linger, to see, for the first time, magnificence in seemingly ordinary life. 

I find myself lingering on a poem, savoring it, and then, reading again, finding new treasures. I keep coming back, and heeding his invitation to pause, to hear his voice, and look through his eyes, discovering his fresh, bright world.

Some Thoughts on Pruning

“Everything has seasons, and we have to be able to move into the next season.  Everything that is alive requires pruning as well, which is a great metaphor for endings.” 

—Henry Cloud, psychologist, author

I’ve been pruning a lot lately.  The garden is now better because of my thinning, shaping, redirecting.  When you prune a fruit tree, the energy is redirected, refocused. Good pruning cuts out those parts that are diseased, dead, misdirected, helping the plant grow better, have a more bountiful harvest.

When I take my pruning shears into the garden, I am reminded to look again at my life, and apply those lessons inward.

3/6/2015

Denise Porter's review of my book

5.0 out of 5 stars Inspiring, January 31, 2015

By 

Denise Porter - See all my reviews

Verified Purchase(What's this?)

This review is from: Mentoring Boys to Men:: Climbing Their Own Mountains (Paperback)

Don't read it if you want to feel comfortable. You won't. You'll squirm and feel horrible about the things that happen everyday in towns and cities across our country and to people you know and see everyday.
You'll also feel empowered---by Neal's honesty and integrity and love of his fellow human beings.
When I sit down and am honest with myself, THIS is what I am striving for in my life. I want to positively impact people. I am not interested in status, bank account tallies or having the "right" connections, clothing or car. I
I AM interested in living a life that is beyond mine. Neal gives us the chance to have hope for a brighter future through mentoring others.

Mentoring Boys to Men: Climbing Their Own Mountains

I am pleased to announce the publication of my book, Mentoring Boys to Men: Climbing Their Own Mountains.  This is available in print on amazon.com, Tillamook County Pioneer Museum and Hidden Acres Nursery and Cafe Botanica. An e-book edition is available at Amazon.

Mentoring Boys to Men: Climbing Their Own Mountains is your guide to inspiring and guiding young men, most of them fatherless and unloved, into manhood, the adventures of mentoring, and the rewards of helping them find their way in the world. These are heartfelt and inspiring stories of courage and determining, overcoming obstacles, and making a difference. This book will help you change one person's life, and thereby changing the world.

Reviews

"After years of working in law enforcement, I found that we always end up dealing with the same people over and over. The problem is that we don’t take the time to engage in conversation with that person to find out where the source of the problem really comes from. The book was an eye opener for me and I think that more people in law enforcement should take the time to read it.

I have found that author to be a great person for opening his heart and mind to these young men that see no future for themselves. 

Great job in mentoring and sharing your stories."

--Alex Ramirez, Clark County (Washington) deputy sheriff, Jail Re-entry Program

Wells Kempter

"As a trauma therapist who works with the impact of combat on the lives of servicemen and women, this book provides the road map for approaching and caring for another strata of trauma impacted souls in post-modern America.  Lemery, in what he writes and how he writes it, depicts the antidote for our troubled times; compassion.  If you enjoy studies in love, caring, and

 read these words.  If you desire more compassion in your life, read these words.  Civil servants who judge in the morning and heal in the evening are very rare.  I recommend for those who seek greater health and well-being to listen and implement these lessons from the wise Judge Lemery."     

Wells Kempter, MA, counselor, US Dept. of Veterans Affairs, former Army Ranger;

 Army Ranger

“Connects to the importance of mentoring to its spiritual roots and provides a simple rule, communicate and listen.  Challenges readers to get involved and help others to reach their full potential in their lives and walk away from their lives of self loathing, poverty and cycles of abuse.  

“My personal take is that once I opened this book, I could not stop reading.  I read about personal pain and the simple gesture of kindness can affect change in so many lives.  Believe the act of kindness is a free gesture that can cultivate so many rewards.  I read about how the act of forgiveness of another and oneself  can change a biased attitude.  

“In the "world" of law enforcement, I got caught up in institutional thinking that everyone is the same and can never change. It is a cold and heartless institution in charge of so many lives.  It seemed that indifference was cultivated in this institution.  

“I am, personally, profoundly, forced to take another look at our society and especially myself, after reading this book.  Thank you for sharing.”

——Sandra K. Pattin, Parole Officer 3, Department of Corrections, State of Washongton.  She  specialized in the sex offender unit. She served on the Board of Directors at YWCA for Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault team.  She has cumulative 35 years volunteering and advocating for victims, 17 years career in law enforcement.  Education, Masters in Social Work. 

“Neal Lemery’s writing reveals much wisdom.  There is an insight and honesty here that challenges you to consider the deeper meanings and purposes of life.  Do not dare to even begin reading these pages unless you are willing to be inspired and transformed, for these stories are irrefutable witnesses to the power of grace.”

Dr. D. Scott Allen

Pastor, United Methodist Church

Biography

Neal Lemery is a mentor of young men in prison, and a retired judge and lawyer. Active in his community, he now is working with fatherless imprisoned young men in shaping their future and giving them confidence and self worth. He is a past president of the Oregon Justices of the Peace Association, Oregon YMCAs, retired youth accountability court judge, and is the current president of the Tillamook Bay Community College Foundation.

Neal is a writer, former school board member, former District Attorney, and lawyer. He has served as a pro tem circuit court judge, and a municipal judge and Justice of the Peace. He has served on numerous local, regional, and statewide (Oregon)committees on juvenile and social justice, substance abuse, and domestic violence. He has been a foster parent, and mentors numerous young men in prison.