Land

I’m spending two weeks with my delightful mother, during this pandemic. It is my turn. My sister who lives near by, and my brother who is also close, and our niece who provides afternoon care have been here every day (someone is) to check in. Mom is independent and living in her home. She does a marvelous job of taking good care of herself, and being of good cheer. But her memory is experiencing slippage. The daily isolation is a concern. So, it is my turn. I’m grateful for this opportunity.

Alfie and I needed to walk. The nice thing about living in our town, are the sidewalks and lovely neighborhoods with interesting 100 year old homes.

But on the farm, there are no sidewalks. Mom and Dad (who died in 2004) built their retirement house on the west side of their farm. Alfie and I took off today to walk through the fields. Corn fields. The ground is littered with wonderful composting stalks and cobs. The land is soft but not muddy. It is strong and lush and well loved.

As I walked eastward I saw the fullness of the land. My Dad loved his land. He could not make a living off our little farm, but he loved it. He loved the history of indigenous peoples who left their arrowheads. He loved the glaciers that moved clay, dark earth, and sand from other places and depositing the varied earth right to his feet. Dad dreamed of this land providing for his family.

This land holds family dreams, family tears, personal confessions, a lot of swearing, and many secrets. They also will compost down into the deep layers of memory and dirt.

For over 40 years a beloved farming family have tilled, planted, and harvested from this land. I could feel their care as I walked. I could feel the utter beginning of the world, right here, in the corn rows I walked.

Alfie has been off leash for a week, and it shows. He bounds along as if he were the original farm dog, herding air and smells.

When I got back to Mom’s house, she was waiting with a lovely cup of chocolate milk for each of us.

Gratefully,

Amy