A Foundation

Monday, the day after Easter, we broke ground for our Grace Academy cob bench (made from clay, sand, and straw). The middle school students designed the bench with clay models. The expectation was that the bench would artistically represent the history of the neighborhood, the untold stories and unsung heroes of Sullivan's Gulch. It needed to fish-tail around to accommodate two views, one of their public art mural and one of the future intersection project on the opposite corner. Finally, we asked the students to consider representing our interdependence of humanity, the confluence of community, of the past and our future dreams. They designed a two tier, semi-circle bench inlaid with handmade tiles representing the unsung heroes. A double spiral column (like the double helix of our DNA) supports a living roof. The ground breaking ceremony included a wish or hope from each student as s/he placed a rock around the periphery. "I hope people like our bench." "I wish this bench will draw the community together." "I hope we are remembered." We were all handed an egg (filled with confetti) to crack on our heads in celebration. Brightly colored paper and egg shells scattered on the cold ground. Renewal. Spring. New life. Promise of Easter scattered on the cold ground. As the director, I made the first dig into the turf. I need a new foundation.

The next day, with a foot deep hole in the ground, it was time to put down the urbanite foundation. I took the noon shift, pleased to move with the pace of stone, slowly, deliberating on the puzzle before us. Each randomly cut piece needed to fit evenly with the others...no rocking, precarious base ~ a perpetual, underlying support that integrated with the earth and offered us all a resting place. I need a resting place. Tuesday was sunny and warm. Sweat dripped from my forehead and ran down my face like salty tears. I took time to examine each empty spot, each possible piece of urbanite. I took my time placing each stone as if the success of our entire future was dependent on my choice. A symbolic circle of stone, I stood inside. I stood outside. We poured sand between the three layers of stone...filling the crevices with desert. I have wheelbarrow level bruises on my thighs from carting urbanite to the site ~ laying the stone, not rolling it away. A sturdy foundation. Starting over. In the beginning. A new song.