Hill of Greens: The Daisy Chain series, #1

By Julie Johnson

Hill of Greens explores what happens when a group of six strangers come together to address climate change through art activism in 2016.

 

Most climate fiction stories are apocalyptic and grim.  Not so Hill of Greens! This is 'climate fiction comedy'.

 

Come join this eclectic cast of characters as they attempt to tackle the climate crisis...while at the same time grappling with personal issues of love, romance, family, parenting, sexual identity, cultural identity, work and career. 

 

Not to mention the problems they have with each other...

 

Can they band together to make a better world? Or will their band break up?

 

Grab your free trade organic coffee, pull up a chair, and hear the tale of these six sweet, ambitious, idealistic souls who risk showing their imperfect selves to each other (and the world) in the name of societal consciousness raising.

 

(some swearing and references to sexual activity)

 

Cover created by J. Johnson in Canva using stock images.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Johnson
• Release date: May 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393541844

Julie Johnson

Julie Johnson has been writing all through elementary school, middle school, high school, university, motherhood, career as an educator...and is still writing. She prefers warm-hearted comedy. Several comedic short stories exploring the interactions between climate action activists and climate deniers  have been published on the Commuter Lit site. She has been blogging about the writing life since 2010 at busywriting.net. You can find her on Twitter @julieejohnsonn. She lives with her family in Ontario, Canada. Over the years she has been involved in numerous environmental and social justice groups. Her activism continues. 

Book preview

This story is dedicated to those who

at any point or

perhaps across multiple points

and sometimes against great odds

decide to open,

reach out, connect, risk imperfection

and endeavour to become allies.

Part 1

Jessica

T ofu, the man said .

Jessica had been staring off into space. Now she became alert. Who was this guy?

White, plump; around fifty. He wore flip flops, khaki shorts and a faded blue tee.

Pardon? She decided to be polite.

The bumper sticker says you’re vegan.  He gestured towards the back end of her red Honda Civic. That means you eat tofu, right?

Uh... This wasn't her car, it was her sisters and she had only a faint recollection of the bumper stickers on the back.

Vegan Girl! or Go Vegan! or Don't Have a Cow, Go Vegan! or maybe all three?

My wife is trying to get us to eat healthier. His face flushed beneath his tan, as if he wished now he'd never brought it up. But the one time she made tofu, we hated it.

Oh. Jessica wasn't vegan. More like a vegetarian who snuck in a little meat on the side. (Shhhh. Don’t tell anyone). But she’d cooked her share of tofu in her life.

I eat more beans than tofu, she explained. "So you might want to switch to bean dishes in place of meat, things like black bean tacos or white bean stews. 

But if you are going to make tofu, I like it chopped into cubes, mixed with oil and cornstarch and baked in the oven until crispy."

He took out his phone and wrote down what she’d said.

Bake until crispy, right? He thumb-typed madly. What temperature?

Try 350.

The gas pump popped in her hand, indicating her tank was full. She put the nozzle back, screwed the cap on and flipped the fuel lid shut.

Thank you, he tipped his cap to her then proceeded to where he’d been headed: the gas station convenience store.

Jessica got into the driver's seat and thought: huh. Did that really happen?

She couldn't wait to tell the others.

Maybe bumper stickers could change minds.

JESSICA PULLED INTO the parking lot five minutes late. Tara’s Jeep was not in evidence so she knew she wasn't the last to arrive.

Jessica got out, locked the car, and headed up to The Daisy Chain, which was a vegan restaurant owned and managed by two gay men.  The food was locally sourced, gluten free and organic. And it tasted divine.

Still, their pros vs cons debate had lasted an hour, for The Daisy Chain was located in the far east of the city, in a plaza near an industrial zone. Was The Daisy Chain worth that extra bit of burnt fossil fuel it took some of them to get there?

So far, four out of the six of them said ‘yes’.

The little bell over the door tingled as she entered.

Everyone but Tara sat around their usual table in the corner.

Sorry, I'm late. Jessica took the open seat beside Denise (who sat beside Amelia who sat beside Damien who sat beside Anthony). The last empty chair across from Anthony, and beside Jessica, was for Tara. I had to get gas.

From across the table, Damien, scruffy-bearded, and wearing a stained and rumpled KISS t-shirt, sneered:

Fucking Shell. 

Jessica didn't correct him, even though it had been an Esso station she’d been to, not a Shell.

And she knew his sneer was meant in solidarity.

Right, she nodded back her understanding. Yes, curses to you, oil companies. Curse you and your world-wide domination!

At the head of the table, Amelia smoothed back her short dark hair, adjusted her red-rimmed glasses, picked up her papers and tapped them on the table to square up their edges.

Now that Jessica is here, she said. Let’s get started.

But Tara hasn't arrived yet, Jessica pointed out.

I know. She’s running late. Tara was always running late.  She called me and said to start without her. Amelia inhaled, eager to begin, but then Winona, their waitress, approached Jessica's elbow.

What can I get you?

Winona was a honey-skinned, petite brunette with blue eyes who today wore her long hair in pigtails tied at the end with blue gingham ribbons. Her white t-shirt proclaimed in big green letters that she was ‘Non-GMO’.

Having eaten there many times now, Jessica asked for her favorite: mint green tea with sugar and the raw vegan cherry cheesecake.

Winona left and Amelia tried again to get started. I have in my hand copies of the petitions you all wanted, she began officiously.

But then Tara rushed in, all curly blonde, rosy cheeked...and bouncy beyond normal.

"You guys will not believe who I just saw!" She clapped and bounced in place, like a hyperactive teenager—though she was 29—and her big bosoms, barely contained by an exercise bra and hot pink, tight tank top, heaved up and down with her.

Tara had made it clear from the start that she was someone who believed in owning one’s sacred sexuality (as befitting her being a disciple of the Great Earth Mother Goddess) but everyone studiously kept his or her eyes above her neck anyway. No one wanted to be caught ogling.

I was at the gas station! She exclaimed. The Shell station to the south just off the highway!  And guess who pulls up beside me in a cute, little lime-green Prius, popping into the convenience store to buy some gum? She left no time for guessing games. She screeched. Alain Thibault!

Undaunted by their lukewarm reaction, Tara began to bounce in place again.

Who? Jessica asked what they were all thinking.

Alain Thibault! The actor! He plays that vampire in that TV show! I watched it all on Netflix last month! He’s totally hot! And he stopped and spoke with me!

Anthony always had his phone out and he began tapping into Google as Tara pulled down her top, revealing her stark tan lines.

Look! He gave me his autograph! Across the white fullness above her nipple—which was still covered discreetly—though only just—was an indecipherable signature in black ink.

"And, she drawled the word as she opened her hot-pink canvas shoulder bag, pulling out various purse debris: hemp cloth wallet, dog eared paperback mystery, sun hat, car keys. Here! Look!"

She threw down several, crumpled pages onto the wooden table-top.

"He signed all my petitions! All of them! And—look! She pulled one from the pile and smoothed it out. He included his phone number! His personal phone number!

Is this the guy? Anthony asked Tara. Anthony was head of IT at a law firm, highly fluent in tech. (Proclaiming his job title was how he had initially introduced himself at their first meeting. He had also described himself as  ‘Chinese-Canadian: third generation’.)

Anthony held out his phone, screen facing forward, having found Alain Thibault's picture on the internet.

Tara pulled the phone in for closer inspection.

YES! Isn’t he gorgeous? She handed the phone to Jessica, who took a look—yes, Alan Thibault was indeed handsome, if you liked swarthy, dark-haired bad boys with lopsided smirks.

Apparently, he's got a country place an hour north of us. He regularly passes through here. We might go out for coffee some time! Tara plopped down in the last open chair next to Jessica, sending forth a wave of patchouli-scented air. "And he says he loves to do things to help the environment! Maybe I can see if he’ll join our actions some time, you know, as a celebrity guest! We might get more signatures that way!"

Speaking of petitions... Amelia tried again to regain control of the conversation.

Jessica could tell Amelia’s pulse had ticked up another notch. Amelia was the de facto leader of the group, and though she could be bossy and overbearing, in truth, everyone liked her at the helm. Without her, the group wouldn’t meet. There wouldn’t be a group. They’d all be sitting at home feeling despondent and useless.

Amelia put the ‘act’ in ‘activism’.

Winona walked up to the table right as Amelia said ‘petitions’, and said to Jessica: Here you go.

She placed Jessica’s tea-cup, tea pot, and organic raw cane sugar packets on the table. Next, from the tray: the raw, vegan cherry cheesecake.

Jessica’s mouth began to water.

Wynona turned to Tara with raised eyebrows.

And you?

Tara packed up her purse items while ordering coffee, black (organic, free trade) and a slice of the raw, vegan cherry cheesecake.

"It looks so good," she leaned over and dipped her finger in Jessica’s cheesecake. Jessica pretended to stab her hand with her fork...though it almost wasn’t ‘pretend’. She could be feral when it came to desserts.

Can I get anyone else anything? Winona asked, pouring Damien a coffee refill from her pot. Amelia said ‘no’  as Anthony asked:

Anyone want to split sesame fries with me?

Sure, said Damien.

Me, too, said Denise, quietly.

Jessica eyed Tara. Neither one could resist, though that meant they were eating their meal backwards, starting with cheesecake.

Tara smiled and said: Let’s be rebels, Jess.

We’ll split an order.

Coming right up! Winona strode off to get Tara’s cheesecake and place the fries orders with Geoff in the kitchen.

Amelia finally got started again.

I’ve got the petitions here, she said. I wrote them up based on the emails you sent me. Anthony, here’s yours on the promotion of solar energy. She handed them out. Damien: fracking. Denise: supporting recycled art initiatives at the Heather McCay art gallery. Jessica: animal testing. Tara: genetically modified foods. You’ll need to make your own copies. Relieved of paper holding, her hands held each other in a business like grasp. She leaned forward, eyes intent behind her glasses.

Now. I ask you. Does anyone else see a problem with this?

We need to go digital, stop using all this paper, said Anthony. It was a topic he often referred to, the need to move from paper to digital devices. But not everyone agreed that devices were the better environmental choice.

Jessica did not relish another round of that debate right now.

Luckily, the sesame fries arrived, along with a savory dipping sauce.

The food order worked now in Amelia’s favour. With everyone’s mouths full, she could talk uninterrupted.

We are spread across too many issues, she announced. I think we need to focus our time and energy more specifically. We should pick one as a group and channel our activism efforts around it.

One? Damien nearly choked on his fry. That’s impossible!

We can carry on with our own initiatives, of course. But I think we are underutilizing our strengths as a group if we spend our time together focusing on too many areas. So— she dug in her purse, a white wicker bag with a blue flower sewn on it. "I have slips of paper here and pens for each of us. I want you to write down what you think is the most important environmental issue facing humankind today. I will put them all in my bag and then draw one out. That will be our focus for the next two months."

Reluctantly, they each stopped eating and passed the pens and paper slips around.

Jessica found this a hard decision. There were so many things going wrong. Acidifying oceans. Loss of biodiversity. Toxin build up. Rainforest deforestation. Disappearing bees and butterflies.

Species extinction.

She thought of an article she’d recently read: that elephants could be extinct in the world within a decade.

The thought of a world without elephants made her heart break. She imagined herself as an older woman, explaining to a young child—perhaps her grand daughter—what an elephant was, how they used to roam free in the wild, and how stupid humanity had been to let this beautiful, graceful, social, loving animal die off.

Horrible.

So she wrote down: species extinction.

And gave it to Amelia.

Amelia put it into her purse along with the other slips of paper, including her own. She snapped the bag shut, put it on the table-top, and shook it. Then, eyes closed, she reached in and pulled out a slip of paper.

She unfurled it and read it:

Fracking.

Yes! hissed Damien, pumping his fist in the air—while everyone else at the table shouted:

No!

Fracking is a small part of a larger problem, said Anthony, upset. And to resolve it we should be looking at alternative energy solutions. That would make more sense as a focus. People need to be shown the way forward.

Our food supply is more important, announced Tara, over a mouthful of tofu cake. If we poison that with chemicals, and genetically modify our food beyond all recognition, we’ll die!

We’re stewards on this planet, argued Jessica. We have a responsibility to all the animals we're killing off. We have to stop the illegal ivory trade!

Denise, usually so soft-spoken, also interjected:

But what about local sustainability efforts? As she spoke, she tucked both sides of her long black hair behind her ears, opening up her face. (Even her ears were beautiful, Jessica noted wistfully. Denise was mixed race: Thai and French-Canadian, and so gorgeous, everyone, upon first meeting her, assumed she was ‘a model’. But, in truth, she was an upcycle artist.) Denise exclaimed: We should be showing our community how to live in a sustainable way!

Voices raised in counter argument. Jessica threw herself into the debate with her usual Irish, red-headed intensity, but thought: typical. Several of their meetings went this way.

What hope was there for humanity if six intelligent, well-intentioned people couldn’t agree on anything?

Winona came by with her pot to top off the coffee drinkers in the group. She overheard the argument and said, loud enough to be heard:

You should focus on Climate Change. That affects everything you’re talking about, doesn’t it?

Silenced, they all stared at her.

She walked away, heading over to the cash register where a Hipster couple was eager to order and pay for their soy lattes.

Amelia looked around the table and said what they were all thinking.

She’s right. She pointed at Damien. The fossil fuel industry uses fracking to access oil reserves that should stay in the ground. Otherwise, they’ll contribute to global warming. She pointed at Anthony. Renewable energy is the counterpoint to fossil fuel dependency, the antidote for climate change. She pointed at Denise. "The need for climate change action is needed at all levels, national, provincial and municipal. She pointed at Tara. Climate change causes extreme weather events and disrupts whole ecologies. Food supplies will be drastically affected. She pointed at Jessica. As will those animals who are dependent upon those ecologies."

Jessica could read the result in the tightening of Amelia’s shoulders.

There would be no more arguing.

This meets all of our requirements, she said. It's a compromise to meet all of our needs.  We will make climate change our specific focus for the next two months. If you disagree with this decision, raise your hand.

No one raised their hands.

AMELIA LOOKED SO SATISFIED by their final decision that Jessica wondered if that had been her plan all along. Maybe she'd slipped Winona a twenty to come by at that time and make her suggestion.

That would've been just like her.

But Jessica had to admit it felt like the right decision. Amelia was right. They needed a unified perspective and climate change affected everything.

Let's start getting organized over the week. This time, she reversed her finger pointing direction. Jessica, we need blog posts, digital announcements. Tara, we need you to scope out suitable locations for demonstrations. Use your connections. And, yes, contact Alain Thibault to see how he can help us. Tara gave an exalted squeal. Denise, we need art-work centered on this theme, signs; posters. Anthony, coordinate with Jessica around website detail and start plugging her posts on social media. Damien, we need a performance plan. Some kind of dramatic interpretation that conveys the idea, like you did last time, only more specific to climate change.

Damien had been very successful with his last demonstration in late April when he'd had them all dress up as corporate business people and hold protest signs saying things like ‘invest in fossil fuels so I can sell more asthma medication’ and ‘I make money off of your suffering!’ and things like that.

They had drawn quite a crowd outside the library. Lots of signatures for their various petitions, too.

Amelia continued.

I think we should meet weekly until we can get a plan off the ground. Can we meet back here at the same time next week to share ideas and strategies?

Everyone nodded.

Good. Email me your thoughts and I'll create an agenda for next week.

Everyone nodded again.

Good. Amelia nodded back and then gestured across the room for Wynona. Now she would order something besides water.

The meeting was over and she could eat.

No one got up right away. They had interests outside of environmental issues and after the meeting it was always nice to de-stress by talking about TV shows, sports and the latest apps.

They were a new group, only four months old, and they still wanted to find out things about each other.

Tara of course wanted to talk about Alain Thibault and his vampire show.

The vampires are actually the good guys, she said. They keep trying to resist their darker impulses and do the right thing.

Jessica didn't care about the show that much but she always loved watching Tara speak. Tara had an enviable enthusiasm for life and an emotional transparency that was refreshing. She felt it, showed it and moved on. Jessica couldn't imagine Tara having a depressed bone in her body.

AS JESSICA DROVE HOME afterwards in the glow of June twilight, she wished she could channel some of Tara’s everlasting openness.

But it was hard to be open when her life was in shambles.

But my life isn't in shambles, she told herself.

I have a good job. (She worked as a language instructor at a private school).

My daughter is healthy. (Her daughter, Hannah, would turn eleven in another two months.)

And I have a roof over my head. (She lived behind her sister’s house in a refurbished, eco-friendly tool shed.)

Just because she was newly divorced and forty-one did not mean her life was in shambles

She pulled into her sister’s long driveway, stopped the car and turned off the lights. The atmosphere of the country was soothing. Frogs and crickets peeped, chirped and buzzed in the shadowy foliage. Almost nine-thirty and the sun stained the sky pink.

The summer solstice was coming up soon. Tara would probably be doing something to celebrate.

Maybe they could also organize a climate related event to mark the occasion?

She would explore that idea later.

Jessica took a deep breath. It was time to get out of the car and go inside.

Hannah was probably asleep but she nonetheless liked to prepare herself. She was trying  hard not to show her daughter her pain.

The divorce had been amicable (for the most part) and necessary (definitely) but her heart still ached with a sense of failure.

They had turned her daughter into a statistic.

No matter how happy or ‘well balanced’ Hannah seemed with the split, Jessica was convinced she had done some irrevocable damage to her soul.

It might not show now. But it would. Some day. In therapy.

As a child of divorce herself, Jessica had utilized her fair share of counseling services over the years.

But those sessions hadn’t always been centered on her parent’s divorce issues.

And she knew there was an upside to broken marriages.

Authenticity had to count for something, didn’t it?

Look at her parents now. Her mother had happily remarried and was living in Montreal. Her father, incorrigible as ever, sailed endlessly around the Caribbean, footloose and fancy free.

Their happiness made her happy.

In the end, it had all been worth it. Right?

Jessica got out of the car and went to the side door of the house. Her sister and Stan lived in a Cape Cod style home: red brick with dormer windows.

As she’d expected, Hannah was asleep.

But Clara was up. She met Jessica in the hallway.

So? How’d it go?

Fine. Good. We’re going to focus on climate change.

That’s a good idea.

Clara was only mildly interested. Overt political action was not her thing. She preferred to post vegan recipes on her blog site.

Clara waved her into the kitchen and offered her a slice of leftover vegan lasagna. Jessica was still full from The Daisy Chain. But she took a glass of water and, keeping her voice low, told Clara all about how the group came to decide on climate change. 

When she was done, Clara asked: Did you get my text about Ron?

What text? Jessica set her empty glass on the counter. Clara went to the sink and washed Jessica’s cup. Dirty dishes did not last long in Clara’s home.

I sent you a text.

Oh, I guess I was busy with the group. Jessica lied. Of course, she’d gotten the text. In this modern age, who didn’t check their phone a hundred times an hour?

So, what do you think?

What do I think about what?

Do you want us to arrange a date? He’s a nice guy. Also divorced.

Jessica tried not to sigh out loud.

Too soon, she said. She’d been saying that for weeks now, every time her sister tried to set her up with some guy that Stan knew through his business dealings.

Too soon. Too soon.

She should probably let her sister know that she wanted to explore her  interest in women now. That she didn’t want to meet any Ron or Rashid or Jacob or Brad because they didn’t rock her boat anymore.

She should tell her. She knew she should.

Her sister would be supportive when she ‘came out’. Clara would listen attentively, probably hug her; tell her she loved her.

And then try to set her up with any available woman Stan knew through his business dealings.

Where’s Hannah? Jessica deflected, knowing her daughter was sleeping on the family room sofa. She started walking there even as she said the words.

The family room was spacious; with a large sectional sofa and a big screen TV, now off, that was the size of a classroom blackboard.

Her daughter lay wrapped up in the beige and grey blanket Clara had knitted last winter, her head thrown back, her nose offering a faint whistle-snore.

Jessica looked down at her sleeping daughter, feeling so much love it hurt.

Hannah had inherited Jessica’s red hair and freckles (sorry, kid) but the shape of her mouth and her nose were all her father’s.

She was a beautiful child.

When she slept, she looked like she’d dropped two age sizes, reminding Jessica of those younger years, when Hannah would sit on her lap and cuddle to sleep.

She got that sometimes, but less and less.

It was harder to carry her now, too. With Clara’s help, she jostled Hannah into her arms and stood up, groaning at the weight. Hannah didn’t stir.

Hannah was a deep sleeper.

Clara walked her to the back door. She gave her sister a peck on the cheek and said no more about blind dates.

She opened the door so they might pass.

In the distance, Jessica could see the black outline of her converted tool shed. Her home. Her best home. Well designed, energy efficient, clean and with space enough for the two of them.

She glanced at her sister before she stepped out and wished her:

Good night.

Denise

Denise woke up at six on Monday morning like she usually did, stepping immediately out of bed and changing into a sports bra, tank top, her running shorts, and running shoes.

At the bathroom mirror, she brushed her teeth, splashed her face with water, and tied her long, silky black hair into a ponytail.

Then she locked the front door behind her and hit the pavement.

Outside, it was the perfect temperature. Cool enough to make breathing easy and rhythmic. Warm enough that she didn’t need a jacket.

She normally loved seeing the seasonal transformations. She had watched the buds unfurl into leaves, the lilacs bloom and now the neighbor's rose bush was heavy and lush. Being June, everything was in full fecundity.

A perfect day: blue sky, sun shining. Even red roses, for god's sake.

It made it all the harder to bear.

She picked up her pace and tried to shake off all the bad feelings. It wasn’t fair how one moment could ruin all the rest