Cindy on January 31st, 2010
I believe that there is a subtle magnetism in Nature, which, if we unconsciously yield to it, will direct us aright.” ~Henry David Thoreau
When I was a student at Michigan State University in the 1970s, three natural science courses were required of all liberal arts students.
An artsy kid, I’d nearly flunked math and biology in high school. So I was terrified, initially, by MSU’s rigid science requirement. But thanks to a very creative counselor who supervised my independent study track, I was allowed to replace the final natural science class with a graduate-level botany course in my senior year.
I was born with a green thumb, so this was both a thrill and a relief. The class required several field trips to outdoor nature centers, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Throughout the term, I learned to identify a wide variety of plant life, and even memorized the Latin names of species. I collected leaves, seed pods, and mushrooms. I sniffed berries and wildflowers. I learned that nature is an intelligent system; more than a thing of beauty in a controlled suburban landscape. Understanding and respecting that system — the miraculous cycle of decay and regeneration — has gotten me through some of the roughest times in my life.
But I digress. Botany was a blast — and guess what? I ended up with the top grade in the class — the first (and only) 4.0 I ever earned in a science curriculum. I’m still proud of that grade, and awed by the fact that so much of what I learned in a botany class serves me well to this day.
My love affair with plants is reflected in the Botanic Garden dish set my family uses now.
Produced by the Portmeirion Pottery company in Great Britain, the Botanic Garden pattern first caught my eye when I was outfitting my first apartment after college graduation. Durable and beautifully crafted, the designs were inspired by original 19th-century botanical drawings, replete with the Latin name of each plant. But the imported dishes were way out of my price range at the time. I was newly employed as a research assistant for a reference book publisher in Detroit, earning an annual income of $7,500.
Margaret, a favorite room mate from MSU who shared the post-grad apartment with me, bought my first Botanic Garden cup and saucer for my birthday in 1979. “If I know you as well as I think I do, then I’m sure you’ll find a way to get the whole set one day,” Margaret wrote on the card that came with the gift.
I didn’t have the nerve to register for the Botanic Garden pattern when I got engaged 30 years ago; Doug and I thought it was too much to ask of our wedding guests during an economic recession. But over the years, we managed to acquire a full set. Luckily, the price of the dishes started coming down in the last decade, and we found several pieces on sale at discount stores and Bed Bath & Beyond. We’ve also received a few of the serving pieces as holiday gifts.
Typing this, I realize it might seem silly or frivolous to romanticize plant science or a set of dishes. But at the end of a very difficult week, awaiting test results for my widowed mother’s worrisome health issues, I find comfort in these simple, ordinary pleasures. And Margaret was right. When you want something badly enough and your heart is in the right place, you’ll find a way to get it. That includes meeting academic challenges — and acquiring expensive dinnerware. — Cindy La Ferle
– Photos by Cindy La Ferle –
Cindy on October 12th, 2008
Growing up in the 1960s, I was fed the idea that “nice people” didn’t discuss religion or politics in public. Ever. At the family dinner table, I once asked my parents to reveal their candidates for an upcoming election. I was told in no uncertain terms that it was none of my business — though I did get the impression that my folks weren’t all that keen on the Kennedy clan.
My father, who later confessed that he was a registered Republican, agreed that Thomas Jefferson was right about the need for “a wall between church and state.” But for the most part, Dad never debated loaded political issues at family gatherings or cocktail parties. Because of that, I suppose, I’m still uncomfortable about expressing my political views in public — especially in print.
Which is odd, really, for someone who enrolled in journalism school in the radical 1970s and was somewhat politically active. At the time, Michigan State University was a safe place in which to express or refute opinions on controversial topics such as abortion, diversity, date rape, gay partnership, global warming or animal rights. During my senior year, I did an independent study on environmental issues and helped produced a documentary on recycling. Looking back, I can’t help but wonder what happened to the passionate young woman I was.
But once I graduated college and joined the work force in the 1980s, discussing politics was something I did only with my closest friends. And even then, I felt vaguely uneasy.
Today, it doesn’t help that I’m a closet Democrat living in a politically conservative neighborhood where people rely on their priests or pastors to tell them how to vote. Earlier this fall, a neighbor who just assumed I was a conservative voter reminded me that “liberals have no family values.” Of course, I was deeply offended. After all, I’ve been happily married to the same man for 27 years, raised a solid family, attended church, provided childcare for the neighborhood kids, taken care of my aging mother, and spearheaded our Neighborhood Watch program. Not to mention all the newspaper and magazine columns I’ve written in celebration of home and family.
Yet I didn’t say a word in response. I let her ramble on. And now I’m ashamed that I wasn’t bold enough to speak out and declare my liberal position. (Worse yet, this has happened to me more than once.) Why on earth did I feel I had no right to speak my own political truth — while my Republican neighbor clearly felt entitled to campaign for hers? As author Alice Walker reminds us, “The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.”
Like everyone else, I’m terribly worried about the future of our beleaguered country. Our upcoming election in November will be one of the most important events in American history. And so, last month, I finally made the decision to break my code of silence. When friends or colleagues ask for my honest opinion on hot-button issues, now they get an earful instead of my usual vague response.
A few conservative friends have distanced themselves from me, or worse, have resorted to sending e-mails bearing dubious or inflammatory messages, such as, “Obama is the anti-Christ.” It’s been decades since bigotry cast its long shadow on my community and country — but here is it again, and it breaks my heart.
Last month I drove to our local Democratic party headquarters and wrote a check. I volunteered to help in the campaign where I am needed. And while I was at it, I picked up several large Obama signs on my way out. Pulling into my driveway at home, I rallied my inner political college girl and pulled those signs out of the trunk. I planted them squarely in my front yard — where everyone can see them. – Cindy La Ferle
–Portions of this post originally appeared last month on the Michigan Women’s Forum and 50-something Moms blog.–
I was born with a green thumb, so this was both a thrill and a relief. The class required several field trips to outdoor nature centers, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Throughout the term, I learned to identify a wide variety of plant life, and even memorized the Latin names of species. I collected leaves, seed pods, and mushrooms. I sniffed berries and wildflowers. I learned that nature is an intelligent system; more than a thing of beauty in a controlled suburban landscape. Understanding and respecting that system — the miraculous cycle of decay and regeneration — has gotten me through some of the roughest times in my life.
Margaret, a favorite room mate from MSU who shared the post-grad apartment with me, bought my first Botanic Garden cup and saucer for my birthday in 1979. “If I know you as well as I think I do, then I’m sure you’ll find a way to get the whole set one day,” Margaret wrote on the card that came with the gift.
