So, for Biology, my class works with some group called SOLVE that wants to promote a good environment or whatnot, and we had to write a poem or story about our experiences working with them this year.

I'll be honest. I hated every moment of it. When we planted trees and whatnot, I seriously wondered if the school was in on some conspiracy to make children do manual labor instead of paying for landscapers- which is a ridiculous thought, but when it's raining and you're stuck hauling buckets of mulch and dirt, you're not going to be happy about it. 

Well, naturally I couldn't SAY that in my poem, so I realized the one good thing this group did for me- get me off my lazy butt- and I played on it. Without further ado, here is the poem that thanks them (in a roundabout way) for making me work and driving (some) laziness out of me.


I am a lazy soul,
Skilled in all ways ill-contending.
If I were to own the world,
I’d probably refuse to be bending

Over with a shovel between my bare hands,
Pushing into the dirt.
And the earth seems to mock my efforts to dent the land
With far too much effort to exert.

I am a lazy soul,
And being outside does not suit me.
The air is too cold or the day is too hot,
And I want the blackberries to let the trees be,
If only to not have to come out to this spot.

I am not a hardy soul,
And apparently, clumsy too.
I cannot shovel correctly-
It’s a bit difficult to dig a hole- who knew?

I am a bit of a persnickety soul,
And I don’t like to get mulch on my fingers.
I spread the insulation, food, around the tree quickly
So as to make sure not to linger.

I am a very lonely soul,
And speaking here with my friend,
Reminds me of the forges we make with
The trowel, the soil, the plants, and the time we spend.

I am an honest soul,
And some days I wonder if Oregon wanted everyone miserable,
And thus always had a fog or mist or rain or cold
That’s annoying and barely bearable.

I am a pondering soul,
And sometimes I think of the little mysteries
Wrapped up in tiny packages,
Cradled by the leaves
Of every species planted, every tree protected.
What if our universe was a bead of water perched on a petal,
And a drop of dew with barely any mettle?
Ridiculous thoughts,
Twisting the mind into knots,
Like a spider’s web.

I am a reflective soul,
And always try to look back.
I am not blind, and though it’s easy to see
Just rows of green surrounded by where we
Dumped sacks of mulch,

It’s worth it to go beyond
And hear the voices whispering in the zephyr
Of memories and conversations fond
With friends, and how the little spot is now for the better
With rows of little native species standing tall,

Braves against the weeds and invasives,
Fighting against blackberry’s choking hold,
Planted by hands so bold
And yet gently persuasive,

Molding the earth and nurturing growth,
Bringing back Oregon’s natural mirth
Before we people came along
And ruined everything without meaning for it to go wrong.

I am a lazy soul,
And admit that I would probably be the prodigal son,
Taking the easy way out.
And maybe it’s arrogance to say I see beauty,
But when looking back at everything we’ve done…
Even the ugliest bugs now seem sort of cute,
Repainted by memories of chasing them with turkey basters.

And what of the laughter that made our sides hurt
When one of us fell into the dirt
And scrambled back up with a smile
And put on the gloves to go the extra mile?

I feel like a thief to take credit for all we’ve accomplished,
When I see the rows of staked trees with ribbons pink
Tied around their trunks like tattoos of our promise
To come back and nurture and wink
Because everything, everything we’ve done with SOLVE
Taught even someone, a novice
Like me several simple lessons so modest:

Pick up the shovel, drop the sleepiness into the hole you’ve dug,
Because now you’ve got buckets of mulch to lug,
Plants to care for, saplings to cover, even if it’s a chore,
And this is good for you,
Good for the state too,
Good for the school,
And deep down, you know it’s true.

And who knows? Maybe SOLVE
Will one day this affliction of sloth resolve
And perhaps this lazy soul of mine will evolve
To see the beauty of what has happened here,
All the work we’ve done this past year,
And next time I might pick up the shovel with a firmer grip
Or have hands that wouldn’t mind a little grit.

I am a lazy soul, skilled in all ways ill-contending.
If I were to own the world,
Would I be here bending
Over with a shovel between my gloved hands,
Pushing into the dirt
As the earth seems to mock my efforts to dent the land
With far too much effort to exert?

Maybe not, I’ll admit,
But I hope that there is someone who won’t call it quits
To take the brown and turn it green,
Cultivating it, always on the scene.
I’m glad there are people with the initiative and resolve
To show a lazy heart that work is pleasure and a goal,
And I’m thankful there are people with the soul
To be able to both my problems and the environment’s SOLVE.


As for chasing bugs with turkey basters... actually, that's a long story, but my friend and I have fond memories of it.