Canada: A story – ‘Beneath The Mulberry Tree’
“Many of us at City Farmer wander in not knowing what we’re seeking and stumble upon a sanctuary of laughter, care, and a shared love of the earth that extends to one another.”
By Ann Fu
Vancouver, BC
afu.arts@gmail.com
I consider myself independent and have always felt comfortable on my own. I relish the peace
and freedom of living and moving through the world by myself. Not entirely, as my dog keeps me company, and typically our one-ended conversations are all I need. Though during the pandemic, her inability to engage in dialogue began to bother me, and I became lonely.
Six months into the COVID-19 shutdown, I ran out of immigrant status in the US, forcing me to leave my home and support system of the last decade. As everyone grappled with the repercussions of social isolation, I moved to a new country alone. Presented with a pandemic, depression, and a natural inclination towards introversion, I now had a “Good Luck Making New Friends” mix.
Ever the anxious overachiever, I tackled loneliness as I treat most hurdles—by creating
spreadsheets and endless checklists of things to take care of. Starting anew meant there were accounts to open, insurance to buy (and exclaim over), and rental homes to tour; there wasn’t time to be lonely. When the to-dos ran out, I signed up for classes, researched volunteer events, worked overtime, and drove my dog everywhere to birdwatch and explore our new home. If awards existed for Keep Busy as a Coping Mechanism, we folks with high-functioning anxiety and depression would sweep the board. Gold stars for everyone!
While on a walk last spring, a tiny orange blur flashed past me. It was my first sighting of a Rufous hummingbird, and in my excitement, I yelled the news to my dog. Unperturbed, she kept sniffing whatever was fascinating to her, and in that instant, I felt an overwhelming ache of loneliness.
Stumbling upon this pocket of joy, I had only myself to share it with. Humans are wired for connection; without it, our risk of premature death increases. Studies warn that the damages of social isolation may be comparable to smoking daily or living a sedentary lifestyle. When I read this, I became more stressed over my lack of new friendships and fell into a destructive mental loop. Returning from the emergency room one night after a health scare, I couldn’t stand being alone with my catastrophic thoughts. I drove across the border to crash with old friends, but the comfort of their presence vanished once I left them. How does society cure this invisible and unconventional medical emergency, loneliness?
One balmy summer day, my dog walked me through the gates of City Farmer, a compost
demonstration garden near where I live. I’d passed by several times but never said hello. That day, the Executive Director and Co-Founder, Mike, was there and we began discussing silkworms while standing beneath a mulberry tree. I felt the kid in me waking up as Mike peppered me with questions, and I recalled caring for silkworms as a mandatory curriculum growing up in Taiwan. His excitement at hearing this was infectious. The conversation renewed my curiosity about my childhood and the significance of silkworms and mulberry trees in diverse cultures. My roots ended up being what led me to the promise of a community.
Mike is what my friends back home call a “garden grandpa”, generous and cheerful, welcoming others into his garden and life with open arms. Many of us at City Farmer wander in not knowing what we’re seeking and stumble upon a sanctuary of laughter, care, and a shared love of the earth that extends to one another. The community has become the cornerstone of my social bonds. I visit to dig around in the dirt or chat on the deck, forging relationships and becoming invested in others’ lives. We support and celebrate each other’s struggles and triumphs. Volunteers past and present gather on Saturdays to trade stories over tea, sometimes bringing homemade treats for the group. One time a Bewick’s wren was singing its heart out on the grapevines and I pointed it out, delighted in sharing the moment of joy. Having learned my love for birds, Mike and his wife Joan brought me a birding book from a little free library, saying they’d thought of me.
It’s taken me three years to understand my compulsion to loneliness; beneath the mulberry tree is where I finally realized I do not have to go at it alone. If you are struggling, I hope you find nourishing connections that bring you back to who you are, offer community, and help you to embrace new beginnings.
