Sedentary Travelogue #6: A Smattering of Spring Flowers

Well, I've been meaning to write the next installment for a while, but I've been too busy! Building a village is not exactly an 8 hour day with lunch and coffee breaks kind of work. Last night I got the best night's sleep I've had in a while (not that I haven't been sleeping well, just that last night was so great). I slept in late and made time this morning to do things just for myself. This afternoon I got some work done, but then this evening's been laid back. I feel like I've got so many little details for this travelogue, it's likely to seem a little scattered, but I suppose one could just consider it vignettes instead. I've been noticing that letters feel like pure sustenance to me, and every one I get pumps my day along better. So, I figure that's all the more incentive to get this travelogue written.

Spring has certainly hit full force and it's glorious to behold. Recently, we had a warm sunny day and I was out working outside for all of it. I'm now overseeing all of our fruit trees planting and maintenance. Not that I knew anything about fruit trees before, but I've been reading and learning much. It's a great area to have responsibility for and be involved in, but small enough in scope to not add too much to my work load. On the day I have in mind I'd been planting all of our new apple trees. It was a full day's work, but still seemed like such an idyllic way to spend the day. Out in the air, listening to bird song. Stopping by the pond on the way back to the water spigot to watch fish swimming around. Tending to the trees. Definitely a rewarding day.

It seemed like the blossoms and buds all appeared overnight. One day the grass was still brown and the next it was exploding in green. The hills are so green that it gives me dreams of Ireland.

Another project I'm working on right now is writing a chapter about Dancing Rabbit for a book that's being put together about ecological community projects. Things were just too chaotic in the house for this kind of work, so I went out to the good old school bus (which has become a much nicer bedroom now that it's warm -- I'm holding off on moving into my tent until the beginning of May). I set up the lap top on my card table and got to work. Soon a thunderstorm came sweeping in and the bus was being buffetted and the sky was grey and I sat happy and cozy inside (with a great view -- school buses are all windows) typing away at the laptop. By early evening, the sun came poking through the clouds, the birds emerged and began flying and perching about the field. I saw this beatiful golden bellied songbird that I'd never seen before right in the yard in front of me. I pulled out my binoculars (sitting handily nearby) and watched it for a bit. Later identified it as an Eastern Meadowlark. Birds... more and more I just love them! Saw a bluebird for the first time in my life the other day too. Just outside the window.

I was talking with a friend who called recently and was talking about the weather. It struck me that I'm talking about the weather more and more these days. It's supposed to be the ultimate example of small-talk topics that don't mean anything. Yet, that's not how I feel at all. I've been talking about it more, because it is more and more relevant to my life. It's part of my hope to be more connected to the natural world. One of the results is that the weather means a lot to me and makes a big difference in my day to day life. It affects how I wake up and what work I might do in a given day. It reveals different parts of the world around me. I notice it consciously and unconsciously all the time. And so I find it coming up in conversations a lot. If you should notice me doing it, know that it's just a natural part of my day.

Another detail I've been thinking about lately is how living in this landscape is likely to affect my thinking. Michigan's hills and trees are woven into my being as deeply as my bones. If my soul has a geography, it mirror's Michigan's. I wish that the geography here were more similar. There are trees and rolling hills, but the feel is different. There is more prairie, which feels very different from the swampy or woods-encased fields that I knew as a child. Prairie, with rolling hills, and stands of trees huddled about and lining the draws and rivers. In other words, Savannah. This was the kind of terrain that humanity first evolved in. We weren't jungle dwellers, although we were accustomed to trees, as is sometimes depicted. Is there some part of our deep brain that remembers the Savannah? Are our bodies especially well suited to it? I don't really expect to find out in any direct way. But I find the idea enticing: that in this place, as part of my daily living, I am experiencing the world that our species came from.

A little over a month ago, the great matriarch of my extended family, Sarahmarie Hodges, died. She was 97 years old and had the constitution to prove it, but she had been fading for years and her demise was not a surprise. Born before cars or indoor plumbing, she had certainly witnessed a great many changes in her world. I made plans to take the train to Chicago, then to Ann Arbor in order to make it to the funeral. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other ideas. A blizzard came in that morning, bringing only a small amount of snow but treacherously slick conditions. Jeffrey and I started out in the truck to make what is normally a 1 hour trek to the train station. We allowed ourselves 2 hours, but it still wasn't enough. After sliding off the road and having to push the truck up steep parts of the road on several occasions, we nonetheless kept deciding to push on to the station. When arrived, we were late, and the train had managed to push through already. We eventually got back home and I had to give up hope of getting back for the funeral.

The next day, after the funeral I talked to my brother on the phone. It turns out that he had had the same idea as I, which we hadn't been able to realize. He and I had talked previously about learning a beautiful song we know called "Sarahmaria" for Gram's 100th birthday. When she died, we both had been planning (independently) of getting together and learning it for her funeral. That opportunity was missed, but my brother had figured out the chords, and he told them to me over the phone. Once dinner was over (somehow I always end up talking to my family on the phone right at dinner time) I pulled out the guitar and went into the living room. There was a group of about 8 friends sitting aroun talking. I asked if they would join me in singing for my grandmother. Everyone was really receptive to the idea, so I taught them the chorus of the song. Once everyone had it down, we sang. I would play and sing a verse, then quietly all the voices in the room joined mine, "Sarah... Sarahmaria.... Sarahmaria... ah... ah... ah". Each time the verse would end, the tones of all our voices would blend together and resonate with her name.

The experience really moved me and I felt blessed to have the opportunity to sing such a tribute to Gram and to have such friends readily available and honored to help out. I suspect it will long stand in my mind as one of the glorious examples of community living.

That's all for now. Life here is continuing at breakneck speeds and I'm getting lots done and continuing to work on a wide variety of tasks. I'll try to write again before too long a time passes.

singing with the meadowlark,
Jacob