Last Monday, I attended the “Not My President’s Day Protest.” There’s something powerful about standing with people gathered for a common cause as our voices rise together and our feet move in unison. Protesting is an ancient tradition. It’s a way to declare that we are here, we see injustice, and we will not be silent.

The crowd swept through Portland like a storm as thousands of us marched from City Hall to the Morrison Street Bridge. Our voices, like thunder, were loud and disruptive. Our energy was electric as we chanted, danced, and released our collective frustration. Cars drove by and blared their horns in support. We could not be ignored, but we remained peaceful. 

Between organizing events and meetings, my communities are buzzing with the question: What else can we do? We want to stay hopeful and active, not just wait around for the next big protest.

I find grounding in the Earth. Similar to protests, the Earth has storms that shake and disrupt. Storms can be destructive, but they also play a vital role in the Earth’s balance. They serve many purposes that include distributing heat across the planet, replenishing dry lands, and stirring up nutrients in the ocean. You could certainly feel the heat of our energy, the replenishment of our spirits, and it stirred in us a collective voice that came from beyond ourselves! But most of the time, creation moves quietly, tending to life with steady, patient work.

In contrast to our capitalist culture which is built on hierarchies, transactions, rigid 40-hour work weeks, and the narrow confines of the nuclear family – nature shows us another way. A way that is non-hierarchical, relational, and rhythmic. A way where family is defined not only by bloodlines but by deep interconnection. These truths are written into our DNA and we know them better than we might think.

“Follow the Earth’s lead” can be more than a phrase; it can become a practice. Protests are necessary, but they are not the whole work. When the marching stops, the work continues through every choice we make. We uproot unjust systems not only by demanding change but by living differently. We buy local. We re-imagine more sustainable traditions. We take only what we need. We plant. We cultivate. We create. We share. We pay attention. We must pay attention in order to see beyond our current systems into the ones of the Earth.

Someone who inspires me is a man named Ron Finley, affectionately known as California’s “guerilla gardener.” In 2010 he became fed up with having to drive out of his way just to find a pesticide-free tomato and he began growing food in the small space between the sidewalk and the street near his home. He now hosts monthly “dig-ins” where hundreds of volunteers help turn overlooked pieces of urban land into forests of food.

Growing our own food, I think, is an incredible act of empowerment and resistance. It’s an example of the quiet, everyday work that cares for ourselves, for each other, and for the planet. Our systems have turned our resources into commodities, making basic needs accessible only to those who can afford them. But nature operates on a different economy – one of abundance. Seeds multiply and food can be shared. We have the power to shift the system, to create a society where all can thrive and be fed. And it can be as easy as talking to our neighbors so we can start on our own street. Growing food is only one example.

Not every act of resistance looks like a storm. Some look like planting a seed.