pieces of my soul
Posted on | December 13, 2005 |
I spend the late afternoon as darkness falls with headphones in my ears. The upstairs neighbor’s music makes me restless. The incessant beat raps a staccato in my head. I long for the quiet of open winter fields. For wind. Bean is finally napping with DH after crying for awhile, tired enough to protest the nap but too tired to skip it. I find solace in Stan Getz on my iPod, and follow the random branching network of links answering my search: “tips for keeping chickens in winter.”
I know it will take years to evolve from my greenhorn self into someone who knows what to do to keep the frost from killing sleeping bees or roosting chickens. It will require trial and error, and lots of talk with locals, to understand the true art of the perennial garden, or to know which animals leave tracks along the snowy paths in the woods.
It’s not that I want to suddenly slip onto a farmstead and never return. I’m to much of a girly-girl with a penchant for expensive jeans to want to be far from the city forever. Yet this much is also true: I am someone who is most centered when I am connected to the land on which I live.
I’m not waxing bucolic. I’ve just always had a profound love for nature. I think I must have gotten this from my mother, who always notices the most exquisite little things on walks we take: a newt on a log, orange and wet, or the feather of a wild turkey stuck in some briers. I have a deep sense of self when I connect to a place. The outline of my position in the universe, small and unique, is most apparent when I am able to see how I am connected to my immediate surroundings. I like to see the fields being used; like knowing where my food comes from—and I take some sort of satisfaction when it comes from a local farm rather than from Argentina or Brazil or trekked across the country in a big rig.
I am far too much of a voluptuary to uproot entirely and live ruggedly off the grid. It was my mother’s story and not mine to boil cloth diapers in a pot and then line dry them in the middle of January in the Rocky Mountains, until they hung stiff and frozen like boards. I’m too academic, too soft around the edges to be that wholesome or self-sacrificing. I like my frothy chai from the local café. I have a penchant for expensive outdoor gear. I love the ease of eating out, the pleasure of savoring food without the preparation or washing up. But I am also someone who strives to live consciously, aware of my impact on this earth.
Everyone struggles, I think, with these things. It is the side effect of living in our world today, with technology folding in around the edges, media pushing it’s way through the chinks of our souls. I think each of us must experience this push—pull: heart and mind narrating different stories. I want to know, what scattered pieces make you whole?
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15 Responses to “pieces of my soul”
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December 14th, 2005 @ 3:33 am
I never thought I would have chickens, but here I am with my flock in Alaska. When it comes time I’ll send you some tips :). As usual your words are beautiful. I have many of the same dichotomies and it is surprising how well they fit when you find yourself living the life.
December 14th, 2005 @ 9:39 am
Funny you should post about this. There are many complimenting opposites in my life, however this post got me thinking most about the holidays. The holidays for me bring about a particular dichotomy in my personality. Happiness, guilt and thankfulness all wrapped up with a sparkly bow.
Part of me wants my home to look the way it does in my dreams (beautiful mantles, staircases, abundant fuit and fresh flowers everywhere, etc..) the other part of me is mindful of the fact that what we have is already enough. There are many people who will work hard their whole life and still not have what we take for granted. Buying even one more peice is decadence that is not justified. 25$ for garland, a plate of pomegranates or a few boxes of paperwhites, will also buy a turkey for the local emergency shelter and/or foodbank.
Part of me wants to spoil my husband rotten at Christmas-time with all the gadgets that he not-so-secretly covets (in exchange for all of the wonderful gifts he gives me all year). He goes without so much in order to give to me (and at times, unfairly, I think) but I know that what would make him the most happy (and feed his soul the best) is not a material gift, but that I personally write about another chapter of our lives. A story will endure, another PSP game will not.
These things and feelings always come about unexpectedly for me. Every Year, unexpectedly. I face Christmas with a bit of a heavy heart knowing that I am lucky and should be enjoying it, although it’s hard to do sometimes when you put your life in perspective with others.
However, I probably wouldn’t wish to approach this Christmas season in any other way.
December 14th, 2005 @ 9:45 am
oh Christina– we are soul sisters for sure. I must tell you though, we are off-grid and that does NOt mean without creature comforts and yummy living— it just means our electricity comes from the sun via solar panels, truly, all the rest is right there!
You are such a sublime artist. I would have been fufilled gazing on your artwork that begins this post– the post was just cream in my coffee!
December 14th, 2005 @ 10:05 am
I relate to this. There is a very big part of me that I have given up, and that’s the me that likes nature and the open spaces. For now, I get it on trips to the parks or visits back home to my small town. I don’t know if I will ever reclaim that part of my personality again, given that my husband is a pure city boy. But, it sure is nice to live vicariously through you and your adventures to move a little off the beaten path.
December 14th, 2005 @ 10:42 am
Your way of describing your life in a place that I love is the reason that I read your blog. I gave up the quaint New England town where my husband grew up and where we fell in love to make a life in a new place for his new job.
I miss running next to the lake in mid-winter and seeing other hearty souls with the same passion. Here in the Mid-West we have to look harder for like-minded outdoorsy people. Through all of our changes over the past year we have purposely maintained our motivation to hike and run and seek out places in this flat land to enjoy the outdoors. Finding beauty in this new landscape is what keeps us whole.
December 14th, 2005 @ 1:05 pm
So beautifully expressed. There are so many layers to a dichotomy of longing. I’m at a crossroads in life, having attained more than 50 years (yes, really) and being pulled toward a safe and practical path that leads to a secure position in older age (I can see those years looming not so far ahead). But, I am also pulled in the direction of yet another adventure, of exploring other undeveloped parts of myself and launching into the unknown while I still have the option.
December 14th, 2005 @ 1:23 pm
Glad to see I have an effect on your words, Mrs. Voluptuary (for Christina’s other lovely readers–I sent her an email with the definition of Volutupary…I bet that we can all be described as such!)
My scattered pieces? Like you, I yearn for the creature comforts of a nice cafe and pretty stores and specialty restaurants. Also, like you, I’d like someday to fulfill my dream of a farm (I have many drawings under my childhood bed detailing where the chickens will go, what types of goats I will have and that they should be under the apple trees, not the pear).
But, in all honesty, my goals have shifted and at this point I think I’d be happier being closer to nature by running a vineyard, not a farm. We shall see, no?
December 14th, 2005 @ 1:43 pm
These responses are all essays in their own “write” (hee hee). I won’t do that, just say that I always thought the ideal living situation would be *both* an apartment in a great funky city neighbourhood, and something wild and beautiful and off the grid. Therefore you could choose which home suits your current needs, until the shift comes…
December 14th, 2005 @ 5:37 pm
how wonderful to know one’s self so well…i’m still learning what i need to truly feel alive
and don’t you love the little preparations (like cruising the internet for information on keeping chickens alive) that your heart starts to make when you know you are about to enter a life change, a new adventure, a piece of a dream fulfilled.
December 14th, 2005 @ 5:53 pm
ps. love the new “about” on your site!
December 14th, 2005 @ 6:12 pm
You keep chickens? Or you want to keep chickens? My best friend had chickens when she was young, she loved them. I’ve never been much of a bucolic girl, to be honest, although the peacefulness of our little farming community is slowly eroding my city-suburban profile over the years.
December 14th, 2005 @ 8:00 pm
it’s so fateful that you write this today — it is just what I have been thinking about. I read you every day and hardly comment, but today I am thinking about what my psychic friend told me — we won’t stay here. and I know we won’t, I know we will flee to someplace quieter, prettier, gentler. but for now we have lives here - all five of us, and a tiny beautiful home. we are entrenched, but it is not our destiny to stay forever. it will be mountains or fields or ocean for us…but not now. and that’s all right.
December 14th, 2005 @ 10:23 pm
Beautiful post…and love the art piece. I’ve only just realized in recent years that I have a profound love of nature…not because I spent much time in it, but because I DIDN’T (until the last decade or so). The fabric of my life is made entirely of contradictions…pounding city streets one minute…camping the next. Having consciously aware ideals…but lazy actions. Nature has a strong pull for me (and I can’t wait to see our land we bought unseen in CO and NM)…because the quickest path to grace and contentment for me is through nature…and children. A good dog might be a close third.
December 14th, 2005 @ 11:21 pm
lately i’ve been looking for ways to find a few moments of grace amidst the miasma of stress, anxious nerves, grating personalities and confused priorities that seem to be an essential part of graduate school. today i wrote one good paper that made me think..now that sounds like me, not some convoluted academic. forget hanging out with chickens, enjoying nature or even drinking good coffee i found my moment of grace after drinking a beer on a lazy boy and eating tortilla chips by the handfuls…
December 15th, 2005 @ 9:40 pm
Dearest Christina, you are such a waldorf child! I hear it quietly every day in your posts, but in this one it screams joyfully out loud to me. I hope my children carry their reverence for nature into their adult lives too.
We are leaving our inner city house for a mudbrick home on top of a hill on the last day of the year. Such an adventure, such a change … but it feels so right.