Have you ever had to remind yourself to be careful not to get killed by an avocado on your way to work? In Boston, I had to watch out for patches of black ice, incoming blizzards, and maybe the occasional metro car that caught on fire. Watching out for heavy fruit falling from above is something I'm still getting used to since moving to São José dos Campos. And avocados are not only enjoyed very differently here, but they are also a lot bigger and meatier than the ones I was familiar with in the North.
There's a huge avocado tree just outside one of the classrooms I teach in. Last week, while coming back to class, I noticed an avocado that had fallen right where I need to remind myself not to walk. This week, my fearless coworker and his sidekick were trying to make that area safer, while collecting and distributing some quality fruit. Look at how they did it!
Isn't it weird how perspective changes everything? Avocados are considered a savory addition to salad in North America, but a sweet fruit here in Brazil. Where I'm from, they are are an essential yet mocked element of a hipster lifestyle, but here, they are a lethal force of nature that can only be tamed when blended with milk and sugar. Even the cold, unfeeling ground where the avocado so harshly fell and lay forsaken last week, only a week later became a welcoming reception area for a delightful harvest.
Like the stone ground, a lonely desert, the shoulder of a road, or even someone giving the cold shoulder--as cool and stark as a dry Brazilian winter--in the right conditions, can become something more hospitable. And as hurtful as it is to be isolated and ignored, even what seems like a desolate wasteland of cold unkindness can eventually become fertile ground for growth and transformation. It all depends on what is cultivated there.
The truck strike of this past week led me to start observing the shoulders of the road. Trucks were lined up on the side of the highway not far from where I live, protesting high diesel prices, among other things.
Because fuel wasn't arriving at gas stations, it became a scarce commodity, and lines of desperate motorists became a familiar sight as gas stations ran dry. As a result of the fuel shortage and consequent limited bus service, I was walking a lot, which enabled me to notice things I wouldn't otherwise--from truckers making a stand, to nearly empty streets, to huge ants working furiously just on the side of what's normally a busy street.
And this tree.
It must have been struck by lightning some time ago. Now, half of it is thriving, and half of it is cold and dead. That's a cold shoulder if I've ever seen one. Or a dichotomy. Or maybe a yin and a yang.
Before I open up a can of metaphors with this tree (maybe I'll come back to it in a later post), I'll go back to that avocado lying alone on the cold ground. I posted a picture of it last week, and my poet friend Greg Walker (@gregwalkerpoet) was inspired by it. I'll share the poem that resulted below, along with a few of his thoughts, mingled with some of my own.
Maybe what we think is the death of a dream is actually something that plants us deeper in our own self worth, or leads us to invest more deeply in things that will one day bear fruit. Maybe there are cold, dark places of society, off the beaten path, where we are called to take root and grow. Maybe the sting of rejection or isolation is not always what it seems, and the day is coming when our voices will be heard, our labors will be recognized, and a harvest will be celebrated.
COLD SHOULDER
by Greg Walker
If the fruit
Is gonna be picked
From the tree
At least
Let it be eaten
We think
We prefer warm
Welcoming lips
To falling
Upon cool
Dark soil
But while one lasts
For a moment
The juice of a gesture
One merry meal
The burial
Bears fruit to last
A lifetime
Sometimes it’s just
What we need:
A cold shoulder
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