Many years ago, when I was a young man, I went door-to-door with an environmental group. I always asked to be put in the most remote areas where I could have plenty of time between doors to appreciate nature, get some exercise hustling between visits with people, to clear my mind and drink deeply of the fresher country air. Frequently I would take my bicycle and race up and down long driveways, bringing news of salient ecological issues, recent work our organization had been doing and important steps that people could take to protect themselves and their neighbors from toxic chemicals in the environment. I especially liked traveling through the country because these dispersed folks were typically living right on top of their only source of fresh water and helping them to protect the groundwater beneath their feet has always been a compelling reason for me to be involved in both ecological education and environmental stewardship. One particular event still stands out in my mind and when I think back on the experience, it still has the profound immediacy and sublime power that it did the day I experienced it.
This day, I was walking, so to reduce the distance between doors, I had forsaken the long driveways. My goal was to talk to between eighty and a hundred people during the course of the evening and without my bike I didn't want to waste time going up and down the long driveways. Everything seemed to be woods, so I didn't have to worry about people getting uptight about me running across their lawns. The community I was in was on a lake, so the homes were clustered along the waterfront and they were several hundred feet back from a paved road that ran roughly parallel to the lakefront.
Between two of the properties something changed. It was hard to put my finger on it, but in the woods, sometimes ecotones develop that change temperature, humidity, light or soils in such a way that you can see, smell or feel it. This was, simply put, a different energetic state. I felt like everything suddenly came alive, as if there was a change in the spirit of the woods. Often, in these out of the way places, there would be either of two conditions, the owners would sometimes rake and mow, plant and cut the woods to within an inch of their lives, changing nature in ways that I felt were over the top. I mean, if you want to make nature like a manicured public space, you could live in town and just go to the nearest park. Even more people would have a small area, often around the house or down by their dock where they would do this, but the rest would be ignored, sometimes with what seemed to me at the time, a vengeance. Trash would blow out into the more remote portions of these natural yards, they would create a trash heap out by the old outhouse or leave human-made objects lying around in the woods until they simply forgot that they were out there at all.
This place was different. It was beyond what nature intended. The variety of plants was much greater than anywhere else around the lake that I had been. There were sprays and clusters of native plants that one rarely sees in proximity, as if the entire woods had been landscaped with native plants with compassionate sensitivity and specific intention. A few dozen steps further, I saw that there was a trail. This area is entirely on a giant outcrop of limestone and the trail, which was narrow, was lined on both sides with the bright white limestone that had a mellow patina that develops over decades, the result of algae and moss. There were a wide variety of ferns and orchids, Trees, bushes and flowering plants, ephemeral plants that might only show themselves for a few weeks each year and along this path, on the way to the house I found, places to sit, not to rest necessarily, but to just appreciate the composition of the plantings or perhaps watch wildlife in particularly stunning settings. Seriously, the whole place looked like the perfect picture postcard or something out of a tourist brochure. Every single thing seemed to exude comfort, like it was placed in perfect proximity to everything it needed to thrive.
The people who inhabited this idyllic space were equally at home in their environment and I had to spend some extra time with them because I could feel that I was in an unusually harmonious location and I knew that I had something to learn form them as well. after telling them about what I was doing there and how they could help, we dispensed with my "work" and they seamlessly began to talk about what brought them to this place and how they related to the location. They had, years ago lived in Chicago, several hours away by car and they had a cottage even further north along this giant limestone outcrop. They shared with me that often, when they returned home after a long weekend or vacation at their cottage, they would think to themselves, why are we leaving the place we want to be, to return "home to a place we don't want to be? It was then that they hatched a plan. Several years passed before they could change their situation, but they decided to find jobs that allowed them to telecommute, or work from home most of the time. they also began looking in earnest fo ra property that was not quite so removed from civilization and they agreed that they wanted to live on a lake, so they sold two places and downsized to one property that was even more idyllic. That took place about twenty years before I was seeing the result and over the intervening years, they had put thousands of hours into each tableau, lining the paths and designing ways for nature to come alive around them. The wife said, "One day we realized that mowing the grass, shoveling the snow at two places and doing the maintenance on two places was running us in circles, taking us away from what we really loved about this place. As soon as we realized it, we knew that we had to make a change."
This has been alive in my mind ever since. I have done the same thing, as much as I can wherever I have been ever since. The brief time that I had a place in the country, it was my goal and life's ambition to transform it as well, turning it into my temple, my playground, my hide away, my estate, my sustenance. One place, providing for all of my needs, even a place to entertain friends. In my most recent location, I have all of that. At last count there were more than three dozen edible perennials that return to greet me each year. My only obligation to them is to eat some and give some away when they need a bit of thinning. I have rooms to let so that I can welcome guests and travelers. I can go weeks on end without having to drive anywhere and I am granted amazing vistas and nature exists all around me inviting me into its sublime family of life. I know where the fox lives, where the geese like to raise their hatchlings and the places the squirrels like to hang out on the coldest sunny winter days. I have become so intimate with my "place" that I know where I can plant new cuttings if they like warmer and drier spots and where the ground stays cold and wet even into mid April, sometimes early May. I still mow a bit, so I have a place to teach my biochar classes and not have to worry when I kindle a fire in my fire pit, but this place fits me and it fits me quite well.
However, the time has come to be moving on. Having become adept at finding this harmony, I know I can recreate it somewhere else. It is actually more a state of mind than an actual place for me. Now that I have found the formula, it exists in my blood, me sweat, my toil. Even when I am called away, there is a part of this flow that resides in me as well as me living in and amongst the flow itself. I have seen and lived the depth of commitment that is required to transform the world and carry that with me at all times. That is part of the joy I feel even when struggling the happiness I feel when problem solving for others. That feeling I had, alone in the woods, decades ago that mystic beings were welcomed to the space, or had a place for them prepared at the table now follows me everywhere. Even when I travel beyond the boundary of my refuge, the feeling of it remains alive within me, assuring me that my needs are being met and the ones I love will be cared for even if I have to go away for a while.
This day, I was walking, so to reduce the distance between doors, I had forsaken the long driveways. My goal was to talk to between eighty and a hundred people during the course of the evening and without my bike I didn't want to waste time going up and down the long driveways. Everything seemed to be woods, so I didn't have to worry about people getting uptight about me running across their lawns. The community I was in was on a lake, so the homes were clustered along the waterfront and they were several hundred feet back from a paved road that ran roughly parallel to the lakefront.
Between two of the properties something changed. It was hard to put my finger on it, but in the woods, sometimes ecotones develop that change temperature, humidity, light or soils in such a way that you can see, smell or feel it. This was, simply put, a different energetic state. I felt like everything suddenly came alive, as if there was a change in the spirit of the woods. Often, in these out of the way places, there would be either of two conditions, the owners would sometimes rake and mow, plant and cut the woods to within an inch of their lives, changing nature in ways that I felt were over the top. I mean, if you want to make nature like a manicured public space, you could live in town and just go to the nearest park. Even more people would have a small area, often around the house or down by their dock where they would do this, but the rest would be ignored, sometimes with what seemed to me at the time, a vengeance. Trash would blow out into the more remote portions of these natural yards, they would create a trash heap out by the old outhouse or leave human-made objects lying around in the woods until they simply forgot that they were out there at all.
This place was different. It was beyond what nature intended. The variety of plants was much greater than anywhere else around the lake that I had been. There were sprays and clusters of native plants that one rarely sees in proximity, as if the entire woods had been landscaped with native plants with compassionate sensitivity and specific intention. A few dozen steps further, I saw that there was a trail. This area is entirely on a giant outcrop of limestone and the trail, which was narrow, was lined on both sides with the bright white limestone that had a mellow patina that develops over decades, the result of algae and moss. There were a wide variety of ferns and orchids, Trees, bushes and flowering plants, ephemeral plants that might only show themselves for a few weeks each year and along this path, on the way to the house I found, places to sit, not to rest necessarily, but to just appreciate the composition of the plantings or perhaps watch wildlife in particularly stunning settings. Seriously, the whole place looked like the perfect picture postcard or something out of a tourist brochure. Every single thing seemed to exude comfort, like it was placed in perfect proximity to everything it needed to thrive.
The people who inhabited this idyllic space were equally at home in their environment and I had to spend some extra time with them because I could feel that I was in an unusually harmonious location and I knew that I had something to learn form them as well. after telling them about what I was doing there and how they could help, we dispensed with my "work" and they seamlessly began to talk about what brought them to this place and how they related to the location. They had, years ago lived in Chicago, several hours away by car and they had a cottage even further north along this giant limestone outcrop. They shared with me that often, when they returned home after a long weekend or vacation at their cottage, they would think to themselves, why are we leaving the place we want to be, to return "home to a place we don't want to be? It was then that they hatched a plan. Several years passed before they could change their situation, but they decided to find jobs that allowed them to telecommute, or work from home most of the time. they also began looking in earnest fo ra property that was not quite so removed from civilization and they agreed that they wanted to live on a lake, so they sold two places and downsized to one property that was even more idyllic. That took place about twenty years before I was seeing the result and over the intervening years, they had put thousands of hours into each tableau, lining the paths and designing ways for nature to come alive around them. The wife said, "One day we realized that mowing the grass, shoveling the snow at two places and doing the maintenance on two places was running us in circles, taking us away from what we really loved about this place. As soon as we realized it, we knew that we had to make a change."
This has been alive in my mind ever since. I have done the same thing, as much as I can wherever I have been ever since. The brief time that I had a place in the country, it was my goal and life's ambition to transform it as well, turning it into my temple, my playground, my hide away, my estate, my sustenance. One place, providing for all of my needs, even a place to entertain friends. In my most recent location, I have all of that. At last count there were more than three dozen edible perennials that return to greet me each year. My only obligation to them is to eat some and give some away when they need a bit of thinning. I have rooms to let so that I can welcome guests and travelers. I can go weeks on end without having to drive anywhere and I am granted amazing vistas and nature exists all around me inviting me into its sublime family of life. I know where the fox lives, where the geese like to raise their hatchlings and the places the squirrels like to hang out on the coldest sunny winter days. I have become so intimate with my "place" that I know where I can plant new cuttings if they like warmer and drier spots and where the ground stays cold and wet even into mid April, sometimes early May. I still mow a bit, so I have a place to teach my biochar classes and not have to worry when I kindle a fire in my fire pit, but this place fits me and it fits me quite well.
However, the time has come to be moving on. Having become adept at finding this harmony, I know I can recreate it somewhere else. It is actually more a state of mind than an actual place for me. Now that I have found the formula, it exists in my blood, me sweat, my toil. Even when I am called away, there is a part of this flow that resides in me as well as me living in and amongst the flow itself. I have seen and lived the depth of commitment that is required to transform the world and carry that with me at all times. That is part of the joy I feel even when struggling the happiness I feel when problem solving for others. That feeling I had, alone in the woods, decades ago that mystic beings were welcomed to the space, or had a place for them prepared at the table now follows me everywhere. Even when I travel beyond the boundary of my refuge, the feeling of it remains alive within me, assuring me that my needs are being met and the ones I love will be cared for even if I have to go away for a while.
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