To Each Who Stand Here With Me…

I feel it coming upon me. The desire to spill so many words that one cannot call it writing, but wretching. There’s so much to say, about the situation on the farm, the attunement of my body to my present situation, the sudden calamities and beauties in all relationships I claim a connection with. Where do I start? Why not at the beginning? Because the beginning is the end, and the end is the beginning. That’s the way I’ve noticed my life working over the last 38 years. Just when I think I’m done for, just when I’ve tried my hardest to get forward, I fall flat ass backwards into something primitive and real, without trappings, devoid of any accomplishment. What do I have to claim as something I’ve gained? Nothing more than knowledge. That’s all I have to my name at the moment. So let’s begin with the land itself, this little piece of property stuck so far from anything and anyone that I decided I wanted to exile myself upon. I love it. I adore it. Wouldn’t give it up for anything, no matter how badly working it today hurt my already battered shoulder, nor spirit. There’s something you’re reminded of when you’re out there working whatever bit of soil you’re hoping to claim for your own: that long before we stood erect and stepped these sad and sandy terrains, She was here first. Momma nature was here growing, building, and destroying long before we decided to retire her and do it ourselves. You find when you’re out there that you have discussions with not only her, but God, as well…and your ancestors. I call upon the natural elements to help me work through the freezes, through the dirt that relies upon a rain that hasn’t come in months….I call upon God, asking for a little assistance in this endeavour. You find yourself a spiritual person when you’re here, if you wish that claim or not. You find yourself relying on movements of nature, on ¬†assistance form unknown sources, on the help from long gone loved ones. As far as relationships go….I remind myself daily that I’m doing this alone. And is there anything else that I’m doing with anyone? No….I am alone here. Left to fend for myself, at the beckoning call of my family and their generosity when grocery time comes around. For now, I rely on them for food, and compassion, and hope. The attunement of my body? Let’s just say, I can’t be afforded a day in bed away from the pain that has my shoulder clinching into gripped, angry convulsions should I decide to use it. Spring is coming, shoveling the compost and tilling the soil are immediately necessary if I am to eat in the next few months.

Off the top of my head: Thomas Merton, I understand your essays now in the Waters of Siloe. I still hold you as a hero.

My family: thank you for everything you’ve helped me to accomplish.

To my grandparents: thank you for teaching me to value the land that I now stand upon for my sustenance.

To Momma Earth, God: thank you for my sustenance.


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