September 24th 2022

Reflections regarding the value in the rather contrary idea of commitment:

My alma mater, The Wendell Berry Farming Program of Sterling College, shared a piece this week and it’s been on my mind the last few days.

“To know fully even one field or one land is a lifetime’s experience. In the world of poetic experience it is depth that counts, not width. A gap in a hedge, a smooth rock surfacing a narrow lane, a view of a woody meadow, the stream at the junction of four small fields—these are as much as a [person] can fully experience.”

 —Patrick Kavanagh, Irish poet

I’ve spent most of my life learning one place, but I’ve been lucky enough to love quite a few and have often found myself torn. There isn’t enough time to ever really know a place. Knowing that the land precedes us in life, and will outlast our breath is a bit of a relief in world where things feel very temporary and mobile. It is a constant struggle to stay rooted, not to wander,  but living from a place has always reminded me of marriage. You learn every little detail about a place in the world, you watch it change overtime, and perhaps you bump into things you aren’t so fond of, or things you didn’t expect, but that’s part of what makes it beautiful. That’s what makes it worthy of a life’s work. I know that I still have a lot to learn about this place, and I feel a bit lost sometimes, and am certainly still getting acquainted. I’m slowly learning where the water runs off the fields, where there are holes or ruts, and don’t get me started on the various names of fields and buildings, each with their own little history. But I think I’m beginning to find my way around finally and I’m feeling quite lucky to spend the time I have living within, and from, such a rich place. May we treat her kindly.