Blazing the trail for women: a tribute to ruth bader ginsburg

In the wake of Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s death this week I have been experiencing many emotions. The first is anger, seminal and cleansing. I am angry at the patriarchal system that we have still not been able to dismantle. Angry thinking about all the times Ginsburg sat alone in a room full of men and had to work twice as hard to be heard. Angry for all the times she was discounted and questioned. Angry at myself for all the times in my life I questioned myself and did not speak up. Angry at assumptions that are made about women. That it is assumed I have a husband who does the tractor work and irrigation on this farm, when, I-beg-your-pardon, I do it. Angry that instead of having the option of hiring women, I had to hire men to excavate, haul soil, move rocks, build fences and design irrigation. As the fire of anger burned out I was swept away into a river of tears mourning the loss of Ginsburg, the fierce, intelligent soul who fought for justice and equality and changed the world for all people through her actions.

Back in January of 2020 when the year was new and full of possibility, I cloistered myself in a trailer in Patagonia, Arizona, for a few days of writing and visioning. In a matter of weeks, I would become the owner of a one-acre farm in the Verde Valley. I would leave my full-time gardener job to earn a fully self-employed living from this land growing flowers. There was work ahead and I wanted to map it out.

One evening around sunset I drove out Harshaw Creek Road, craving a stretch of dirt to run down with no particular destination in mind. I came to the Red Mountain Trailhead. It all seemed so familiar, the curves in the road, the mountains etched with rock outcroppings glowing in the evening fade. I realized that here, 26 years ago, is where I began my journey into leadership. I was a new college graduate, fresh off the train from the East Coast, and crew boss of a dozen 18-25-year-olds. We would spend a year living and working together to build and connect the Arizona Trail.

As I ran up the trail in the waning winter light I briefly thought of lurking mountain lions. Still, I set prudence aside. I had to put my feet to this path, the place where so many things began: my love affairs with my first husband and the wilderness, and the place where I came into my shovel-to-earth physical strength. This is also where I solidified the idea that the most unlikely group of people could become family through a bond created out of good, hard work in nature. As I ran by a patch of alkali sacaton grass, the pale yellow seed stalks taller than me, I marveled at the bravery of my young self, stepping so fiercely and unquestioningly into the role of crew leader.

I had no previous experience, save being the eldest sister. That role came with its own innate leadership skills. Elder sisterhood required living your own hard knocks first and then desperately acting to shield the ones after you from making mistakes, from getting their hearts broken, from taking the wrong turns and getting lost. I had big sister trail blazer abilities. I have been breaking new trail in my family all my life and telling my younger sisters what to do ever since I could talk.

I gave a nod to my younger self who was battling fear and naysayer voices that today I still hear blasting from my inner loudspeaker: You have no experience. You are going to fall flat on your face. No one will respect you because you are a woman. You have no authority over this subject. No one is going to listen to what you have to say.

In that moment, I felt such tenderness toward that fearless young woman who stepped into leadership without talking herself out of it. Without her I would not be running along this trail at dusk enjoying this freedom in nature. A flutter of small birds startled from the grasses, probably feeding on a meal of seeds and insects residing there. My heart jumped in reaction. The sound of wings and bird words broke the silence and brought me back from the distant past to my body in this moment. I felt my breath and my steady heartbeat pounding. A bubble of gratitude rose in my throat, to have believed enough in myself to have taken those leaps of faith. That same young woman is inside of me to navigate the trail ahead, as loving partner, big sister, farm owner, business woman and community leader.

This weekend a group of my plant lady boss friends gathered on our farm to plant our pollinator garden terraces. One will be the RBG Memorial Garden built in the heat of the monsoon-less desert summer by me, orchestrating a group of men to carry out a collective vision. We circled up; each woman shared what she intended to plant in this place and in the world in Ginsburg’s honor. Fraught by how divided and hopeless we felt, words like compassion, deep listening, fierce love and hope mingled with our shovels in the soil, and with the roots of ocotillo, sacred datura and milkweed plants. We took to the work with words spoken by Ginsburg: “Fight for the things you care about, but do it in a way that will lead others to join you.” I will be fighting with love.

The Ruth Bader Ginsburg memorial pollinator garden