Nor are we asking what will become of the 1.64 acres at 952 Memorial Drive SE, now that our good neighbors at Reid’s Body Shop have packed it in, and the property changes hands from developer to developer. 

We have a different question, one that came to us after breakfast last summer. We walked out the front door of Home grown, smacking our lips, and looked off to our right. There we saw — glowing in the slant light, stretching most of a block, growing through chain link fence as it had for decades — perhaps the finest swath of cosmos in all of Atlanta. 

Thousands of orange flowers. Intentional, not accidental. Swarming with bees. Aflutter with butterflies. Beacons of beauty and grace, growing up through the cracks. Sublime. The question that occurred to us that morning was, ‘What will become of all those cosmos once the bulldozers roll through?’

This question immediately attached itself to our core question: ‘What makes a place a place?’ How, as the world skews toward  universal this and generic that*, do we nurture the particular? How do we maintain (or dream up, or build, or grow) that which makes this place not the same as all the other places? The core of the answer, of course, lies with people. We turn strangers into neighbors, we pick up the litter, we play in the street. But the physical markers also matter. The heat and the humidity. The sound of the train yard. The smell of barbecue. 

So we dug deeper.

Our friend the botanist told us that, though cosmos weren’t natives, they’ve grown here for hundreds of years. They’re hospitable, feeding pollinators, and play a crucial role in our urban ecosystem. Their preferred habitat? Marginal conditions: poor soil, cracks in sidewalks, not much water, blazing sun. She also told us they were easy to grow from seed, and though not perennial, reseeded themselves readily.

Wait – what?

Reid’s. Seeds. Reseed.

Right then it went from ‘maybe there’s an idea here’ to ‘oh hell yeah.’

Week after week, our dedicated volunteers gathered the precious, might-soon-be-bulldozed seeds. They’d then spend an equal amount of time picking the velcro-like beggar’s lice (our cosmos’ neighbor) out of their clothing and hair. In a good hour, they’d net maybe 30 grams of seed. Another Ranger walked the neighborhood, mapping 80 possible sites where growing conditions felt right. We whittled this down to 30 patches, spread all across Reynoldstown. All winter long we imagined this cosmos ribbon, flashing orange, buzzing bees around every corner. 

Then we waited. 

We waited for spring.

And we waited for you.

*In the interest of flow, this first footnote serves merely to lead you on to the much longer one below, bumped to the end in service of readability, coherence, and sanity.**

You might pretend you don’t see those January daffodils. Or you disregard that quince bush, flowering weeks before it’s due. Well, good luck to you, burying your head in the sand (or the clay), when you’re off for a walk around Reynoldstown with our rigorously observant neighbor, Teri Nye. For Teri, spring merits the closest scrutiny. For many years, she’s kept an exquisite phenological journal, one so beautiful you could weep, even as you go look up the definition of phenology:

‘the study of cyclic and seasonal natural phenomena, especially in relation to climate and plant and animal life.’

Walks with Resident Experts 002: Spring, with Teri Nye steps out on the first full day of spring, Wednesday, March 20, at 6:30 pm. Limited to twelve people and two alternates, here. Will go fast.

This Month’s Ranger Calendar

New Reynoldstown Quilters
Sunday, March 10, from 3-6p (Blue House)

Walks With Resident Experts 002, Spring with Teri Nye
Wednesday, March 20 from 6:30-7:49p (sunset)

Reid’s Seeds, Community Sowing
Saturday, March 23, 10a-1p, Meet at Park Grounds

New Reynoldstown Quilters
Sunday, March 24, from 3-6p (Location, TBA)

Confused by the Quilters location code? Contact J. Gibson to get in the know!

**First--

Here again, the line from above that prompted this chunky footnote:

‘How, as the world skews toward universal this and generic that, do we nurture the particular?’

Because Rangers believe in transparency, we must tell you that this sentence opened up a fundamental question, and a spirited debate among us. Briefly: does this line, lamenting the rise of the universal, convey a cranky sort of ‘kids-these-days-ness’ within the Ranger philosophy? Why insert this barb into an otherwise warm and positive story about flowers?

Some of us caught, within this line, a whiff of the cynical, a stench at odds with the inherently positive values that Rangers embrace. We strive to balance our optimism with pragmatism, a recognition of how the world actually is. We aren’t idiots; lots of things are a mess. All the more reason to pick up tools that unlock potential. Among the handiest of these tools is the one called  ‘Yes, and…’

So.

Is the world evermore inclining toward the universal?

‘Yes, and…’

In many ways that’s more than okay, it’s to be celebrated, embraced. Universality opens hearts, eases friction, gives comfort. Eating a Big Mac on Les Champs-Elysees can actually cure homesickness. We all like it when our phones work in other places. Universality is not actually the issue. It’s ubiquity. It’s ‘everything, everywhere, all at once.’ It’s a lack of traction, of fixed points; it’s the disorientation that follows.

In response to this brain scramble, Rangers say…

YES to the global. YES to the future.
AND to the local. AND to the past.

Rangers are cake-havers and cake-eaters. Move forward, sure, but bring us all along. The very cosmos featured above grew directly across the street from a big chain grocery store. That’s more than okay; it’s pretty great — if it doesn’t cost us Park Grounds. We’re voices for balance, not exclusion or nostalgia. We want both: economies of scale, and small moments of grace. Density and complexity alongside specificity and peculiarity. Welcoming new neighbors by telling old stories. The former need not cost us the latter, if we are attentive stewards. The universal only ever resides within the particular. 

Branching, because rooted.

Not afraid of the world, nor of the future.

Taking our tiny, best shot at shaping them both.

FARQ and Glossary

Space permits neither this month’s question-time with Wylie, nor our forced march through the alphabet. They’ll both be back next month. Blame that footnote.