“You may not be a farmer. You may not even know a farmer. But you eat food, don’t you? That rice has to grow somewhere, and those vegetables, and that fruit tree. Her body is soil and clay, her hair is wheat and corn and rice. She spreads her arms over the food bank doors and blesses those who beg for rice and those who give it. She hates the city’s food deserts and how they trap the poor, and she whispers in the ears of market managers to make sure the doors stay open where they’re needed.
“She’s as relevant now as she ever was, and she’s still listening. If you don’t sell things or own a business, you work in one, or you depend on someone who does. She’s the Lady of Craigslist and Ebay and Etsy, the Mother of the Hustle, and isn’t everyone you know trying to get something going on the side these days? Offer her a coin and she’ll give you two.
“More than that she’s the Hearth and the Home, and they say the house where she lives always makes rent. She opposes shady landlords and fraudulent contractors, keeping safe what is sacred to her. Invoke her against gentrification. Invoke her against high-end condominiums. She is Luck and Timing, and will put the for-rent ad in your hands in time for you to get it, when it is the right home. She curses those who turn out the homeless and blesses the squatters.
“And she’s also the death of the body, She-Who-Sits, the Hand-Holder, the Lady of the Hospice, the one who waits as technology keeps our bodies going after our souls depart. She guides the hand of the anesthesiologist and counts the heartbeats of the braindead. She holds the plug in her hand, and she will offer wisdom to those who must make difficult choices.
“From birth to death the Earth holds you in arms of gravity and provides for you, and you ask how she is relevant? Let me know when you escape the Earth, and then I will concede that you are outside of her domains.”