Lessons, p.14
Lessons, page 14
From my grandmother I also absorbed the importance of eating locally grown foods. One of the biggest disconnections from nature that I see is the way most people shop for groceries. It’s common to buy fruits, vegetables, meat, seafood, and poultry without knowing where they came from, or whether the producers have added chemicals and stabilizers to the food. Most of the produce my family eats comes from local farmers and growers. I’m a big believer in eating locally grown food and, to my way of thinking, no two jobs are as important and underappreciated as farming and teaching. If you think about it, farmers and teachers are similar. Farmers grow and nourish the food we eat, and teachers grow and nourish our children’s minds!
Breakfast snuggles in Costa Rica, 2015.
Local fruits and vegetables taste better, because they are fresher, since nothing has to be added to them to keep them from spoiling. Eating locally is also better for our environment. It means that the food we eat had to travel a shorter distance to reach our tables. I know it’s hard for some people to find local produce—especially people who live in urban settings—but I’m always happy to read that farmers’ markets are on the increase. Once you taste the difference in local produce and can feel your own energy level rise, it’s hard to go back to eating any other way.
We’re lucky to have our own small garden behind our house in Boston. Growing our own vegetables and herbs has been a wonderful experience for all of us, especially the kids. In the same way I began to understand the cycles of nature at my grandmother’s farm, it’s begun to dawn on Benny and Vivi that life doesn’t just happen—that there’s a process, and a rhythm, to everything on earth. For a cucumber or a strawberry to grow, it needs sunlight, rain, fertile soil, and, of course, lots of love and attention. Whenever Benny and Vivi have a friend from school over, one of the first things they do is run outside into the garden and pick and eat a baby cucumber or a cherry tomato right off the stem. Whenever they do, I’m reminded of my own childhood. It feels like a complete circle.
Is there a better teaching tool than a garden?
Having a garden has also taught my children about the challenges that face any living thing. We have a wonderful gardener who comes to help us, and Benny and Vivi like to help her place ladybugs on the plants, so they can ward off predators. They understand how plants are endangered by voles or rabbits or the occasional deer that jumps the fence. As the children get older, they take more and more pride in helping prepare their own food and meals. They understand that the vegetables and herbs we grow in our garden play an important part in nourishing their bodies. They also understand that some of their favorite fruits—blueberries, strawberries—just aren’t available sometimes because they’re out of season. They hear how hard it can be for local farmers in the fall or winter, and the challenges of growing produce in a greenhouse, and how, say, a sudden heavy snowstorm or ice storm can cause a greenhouse roof to collapse. As a result, they are more understanding of the effort, commitment, and love that goes into being a local farmer.
Tom—with Vivi helping—checking out the new beds we added to our garden in the back lawn of our house in Boston, 2017.
In the future, I’d like to learn more about botanical medicine, since some of the most powerful medicines available to us come from nature. Having grown up with a mom who made special teas whenever my sisters and I got sick, I’ve always been fascinated by the ways nature can cure us. I’m not against Western medicine, but on the rare occasions that I don’t feel well, I always choose a natural medicine. If I get a fever, it follows that my body is trying to tell me something. Sometimes just sitting in a tub in room-temperature water is a great way to bring my temperature back to normal. If I get a headache, I first drink a lot of water, and then I lightly massage some peppermint aromatherapy oil onto my temples. Even better is lying down for a short time, and usually my headache goes away.
My own grandmother was something of a medicine woman. My mom told me that when anyone in her small village would get sick, they would first call my grandmother to find out if they could be treated with herbs, rather than going to the hospital, which was far away. If any of us girls had the beginnings of a cold or flu, she would make teas and put peppermint oil under the soles of our feet, cover them with socks, and send us to bed. When we had a cough, she would cut up an onion and place the slices in our room or pin them to our pajamas. Along with making sure we stay hydrated and get massive amounts of vitamin C, I do this for Benny and Vivi when they come down with fevers. In my experience, it works. A few times, when the kids have had the beginnings of a sore throat, I’ve used a method I learned from my mom. I pour really cold milk onto a cloth, cover the outside of the cloth in plastic wrap, and arrange it around her throat. It’s a little stinky the next morning, but Vivi’s sore throats are usually gone—I have no idea why. Also, lemon is a natural disinfectant, so if anyone in my house is sick, I cut a lemon in two and leave it faceup on the dresser next to the bed. In the winter I also like making a tea out of manuka honey, three or four chopped-up lemons, and freshly grated ginger, especially if the kids or I feel the beginnings of a cold.
And if one of the greatest lessons that nature can teach us is about the rhythm of the seasons, well, imagine what it’s like being a Brazilian woman surviving a New England winter! Ten of them so far! If I had to choose between winter and summer, I wouldn’t have to think twice. Nothing makes me happier than being barefoot and wearing light clothing. Having grown up in a tropical climate, I would naturally prefer to live where it’s warmer, but I also love the beauty of the seasons in New England. Still, the winter can be tough. I don’t get depressed because of the darkness, but I’m freezing all the time, and I’m a person who literally turns blue when I get cold. But once I learned that the secret to surviving cold weather is layers—sweaters, down jackets, ski pants, jackets, socks, gloves, leaving only your eyes visible—winter can be a beautiful, cozy time of year. I like to ski, too, which I’ve been doing regularly for about four years, though when I was learning I spent most of my time on my butt. Benny and Vivi are already both better skiers than I am, and Jack flies down the mountain, which reminds me how good it is to start learning a sport (or, for that matter, a language) as early as possible. Me, I still stick to the blue runs!
I may spend the winter months dreaming of warmer weather, but Benny and Vivi, who were both born in Boston, love winter, especially going outside and making snowmen or snow angels or having snowball fights. They’re hardy New Englanders. Sometimes even when I’m wearing three layers of clothing, I still feel cold, whereas Vivi, who’s wearing only a sweater, tells me she’s boiling. My favorite times in December and January are when it’s snowing outside but I’m indoors, wearing fuzzy sweatpants and cozy socks, sitting before the fire, reading a good book—but to be honest that rarely happens, since I’m usually running around doing a million different things. Nature is beautiful and inspiring, no matter what season.
She—nature—was also my inspiration when it was time for me to have my cubbies. (Even their middle names are inspired by her: Rein [rain] and Lake.)
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I’d always dreamed of giving birth naturally, at home. To me it is the most peaceful, beautiful way for a child to come into this world. Ever since my twin sister, Pati, got double pneumonia when we were ten, I’ve had a strong aversion to hospitals. The idea of giving birth at home not only felt natural and right, it also connected me to a deeper sense of power. It was about trusting my own body, and my creator, to bring a new life to the earth. It wasn’t as though I was the first person to consider this idea. Until the 1900s, millions of women gave birth at home. When I was pregnant with Benny, though, many people reminded me that very few women today give birth at home. Well, I guess I was going to be one of them.
A few years before I got pregnant I met Mayra, a very special young woman who was studying to be a midwife. Mayra told me that unborn babies basically float in water inside their mothers—and that the gentlest, most soothing way for a newborn to enter the world was into water. That stuck with me. I knew after that conversation that I wanted to birth my baby in water. I told Mayra that I would love to have her with me when I had my baby. A few months before Benny was born, I called Mayra and said, “Are you ready? Let’s do it!” Some women, Mayra told me, have given birth in the ocean, while others have given birth in a bathtub. I chose the bathtub option—an easy decision, since it was December, and the middle of winter, in Boston. I began watching lots of videos that she recommended of women giving birth in the water. At first, most people around me, including Tom, thought the idea was dangerous. But my mom completely supported the idea, and was with me when both my children were born.
In the kitchen of our former apartment on Beacon Street in Boston. It was 2009, just a few weeks before Benny’s arrival.
Tom and I were in Los Angeles with Jack during the off-season when I had my four-month checkup with an obstetrician. The doctor told me that it was too dangerous for me to have a home birth. He said that Benny was in an unusual position, my hips were too small, and the odds just weren’t in my favor. He said it was probably best for me to schedule a C-section. And as I said, Tom wasn’t enthusiastic about a home birth either. Only after I had him watch a half-dozen natural-birth movies did he finally agree. (Or maybe Tom just didn’t want to have to watch one more natural-birth video.)
I told the obstetrician that I was going to have my children at home. My attitude was the same as it had been in middle school: I don’t think you get to decide this! No one was going to talk me out of it. I began doing more research, and soon I found Deborah, a very knowledgeable midwife. She had attended hundreds of at-home births. She was also kind and loving, exactly the sort of person I wanted by my side when I delivered my baby. Deborah explained to me where Benny was in my uterus—she wasn’t worried—and reminded me that I had no health issues and that I was young and totally capable of doing this. She had no concerns and was confident that I would have a successful home birth.
My plan was to give birth in my bathtub, though I’d overlooked an important fact: I’m five eleven, and the bathtub was, well, not a whole lot bigger than that. I was in labor with Benny for sixteen hours, and the last three I spent in the tub, as Mayra, Deborah, Tom, and my mom continually replenished the hot water. Any woman who has given birth knows it is one of life’s most overwhelming experiences. But the more intense the pain, the quieter I got. The whole process was unfolding between me, my God, and my child. Krishna Das was playing softly in the background, and I was surrounded by flickering candles. I closed my eyes and kept focusing on my breathing, knowing that with each contraction, I was getting closer and closer. As always I had a purpose: I was finally going to meet this little being who I’d been carrying around in my body for nine months. I would get to see his little face! My clear sense of purpose made my pain more bearable. My whole life I’d been praying to my guardian angels, but when I was giving birth, I went straight to God.
When Benny arrived, I felt, but not for the first time in my life, that I was somehow outside my own body experiencing the moment from two different perspectives. I could see myself in the bathtub, as if I were watching a movie, witnessing it from above, while simultaneously feeling a rush of energy as I kept breathing. I was watching my son be born from a distance, and yet at the same time I was totally in the experience of giving birth to him. I’ve always wondered exactly how that could be happening. Maybe it’s because at that moment the veil between the earth world and the spirit world gets thinner. I don’t know—all I know is that it was magical!
Me and my sweet baby boy, a week after his birth, December 2009.
Vivi’s birth three years later was slightly different. Having learned my lesson about the bathtub, I bought a birthing tub, almost seven feet in diameter, which came with a water heater. It not only kept me warm, but it also gave me enough room to move around. Unless a woman is very small, I would recommend buying or renting a birthing tub (I gave mine to Mayra, so that other expectant mothers could use it). Once again, Krishna Das was chanting, and the candles were glowing. Tom was in the tub with me, and my mom, Deborah, Mayra, and my sister Fafi were also in the room. I’m so happy that I was awake, and conscious, when I gave birth to both my children. Yes, the pain was sometimes hard to bear, but focused breathing helped lessen the pain. Giving birth to my children at home were the two most extraordinary experiences of my life. I’d made a decision, trusted myself that everything would work out, and it did. I am so grateful.
Right after Vivi’s birth, Benny came to our bed excited to meet his little sister.
I remember lying in bed with each of my cubbies right after they were born and thinking, Nature is miraculous, life is truly magical—and so are our bodies that can create life, and how incredible to feel an instant intimacy with a small being you have just met.
I also noticed a new kind of strength within me. I felt like Kali, the Hindu goddess of time, creation, destruction, and power, a feeling of invincibility. I could chew rocks in half! I could split mountains in two! I could divide oceans! Kali is also linked with death. When a baby is born, a mother takes a step backward. A part of her dies. It was also the death of me-ness, of ego, of me putting myself and my own needs first. Birth is a metaphor for many aspects of life, because it takes much effort, and only after we have passed the test are we given a reward.
In 2008, I funded and worked with my dad on a program dedicated to restoring the quality of the water in a small river in Horizontina. We called it Projeto Água Limpa, or Clean Water Project. It was a very rewarding experience, not only because I got to work with my dad, but because it brings joy to my heart to know that we were able to create a meaningful, lasting change to that region where I was born. By regenerating the margins of the river, local people today have access to cleaner water. Recently my family decided to expand our efforts, using what we learned with Projeto Água Limpa to clean the Jacuí River, one of the largest rivers in our state. I’m thrilled to take on this new challenge, with the hope that in the future others will join this effort so that we can clean up more and more rivers in order to provide fresh, clean water for everyone. I hold the vision that we will be able to work together with local communities, which in turn will be empowered to care for and preserve natural resources.
Vivi, my little girl, flying into the sunset, in Costa Rica, 2016.
Our health depends on the health of our planet. When we hurt nature, we hurt ourselves. No doubt nature notices our lack of awareness, and the countless ways we are abusing and destroying her, but she just keeps on giving. My wise friend Noel, who maintains the trees in Ireland’s national parks, once gave me a simple and profound explanation for what is happening today with nature. “Any living thing that loses one-third of its skin,” he said, “suffers a high fever and is at great risk of dying. To date, our earth has lost one-third of her skin—the trees, the soil, the ocean, and the biodiversity surrounding them. Yet instead of helping to grow and replenish what has been stripped away, we keep on pillaging and ravaging.” Many people take the earth, the food we eat, and the water we drink for granted. Many more believe we’re entitled to take everything nature has to give. We’re not! We all need to contribute to the future of our planet. This is our earth. Our water. Our trees. Our future. If we’re going to continue to live on this planet, it’s our responsibility to roll up our sleeves and do something to help. It’s up to us to protect the earth and save ourselves. We are the ones we have been waiting for. We need to honor the organism that supports us. Our future is in our hands.
So please, be as useful as you can. Use the special gifts that life has given you to serve others and make the world a better place. Remember, you and I and everyone who lives on this earth is a part of nature—and why are we here if not to learn, grow, and help one another?
7
Take Care of Your Body So It Can Take Care of You
Before I start this chapter, I feel I have to address something, but I’ll do it fast, because it makes me uncomfortable. I’ve been told that many women wish they had a body like mine. I also know that many people are curious about my diet. I must admit that I find all of this a bit strange. There are many things I really like about my body—I’m naturally athletic and proud of it—and many things I dislike, including my shoulders, which to date I’ve dislocated about nine times each. Many women have said to me that they wish they were as tall as I am. My height in the end turned out to be a big advantage (modeling! volleyball!), but it wasn’t my choice to top out at five feet eleven. Especially when just trying to fit in as a teenager, it’s hard to be unnoticed when you’re a foot taller than most of your friends.
The body I have is the one I was given—remember four of my sisters are about a head shorter than I am—and all the kale and coconut milk in the world won’t make them taller. A lot of people seem to be under the impression that I follow a special diet or a special exercise plan in order to look a certain way. The truth is when I was younger I didn’t have to do very much to keep my body fit. I am a model after all, and my natural body type is leaner, with smaller bones. But at thirty-eight, my metabolism has slowed, and today, I am very thoughtful about what I eat. I have a healthy diet, and I exercise daily, for a simple reason: so I can feel good. Remember the anxiety attacks I wrote about earlier? They were an incredibly motivating force in my life. If you’ve ever had one, you’ll understand that you never want to experience another. My panic attacks were much more motivating than any pleasure I might have from standing in front of the mirror.
