IX.

I go by a field where once
I cultivated a few poor crops.
It is now covered with young trees,
for the forest that belongs here
has come back and reclaimed its own.
And I think of all the effort
I have wasted and all the time,
and of how much joy I took
in that failed work and how much
it taught me. For in so failing
I learned something of my place,
something of myself, and now
I welcome back the trees.

-Wendell Berry

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I like poems. I'm halfway done with college and starting year 3 in a week. I'm not sure I've learned enough in life to understand this poem yet, but I know I like it.

Prayer for the Small Engine Repairman

Our Sundays are given voice
By the small engine repairman,
Whose fingers, stubby and black,
Know our mowers and tractors,
Chainsaws, rototillers,
Each plug, gasket and valve
And all the vital fluids.
Thanks to him our lawns
Are even, our gardens vibrant,
Our maples pruned for swings,
The underbrush whacked away.
"What's broke can always be fixed
If I can find the parts,"
He says as he loosens a nut,
Exposes the carburetor,
Tinkers and tunes until
To the slightest pull on the cord
The engine at once concurs.
Let him come into our homes,
Let him discipline our children,
Console and counsel our mates,
Adjust the gap of our passions,
The mix of our humors: lay hands
On the small engine of our days.

-Charles W. Pratt

7 months?

...it's been since I've posted anything here, or probably written anything of moderate substance that wasn't academic work, for that matter. This might tell you something about how last semester went - lack of writing, lack of inspiration, motivation sometimes. Working on how to change that.

I got a lot done today, though! Including writing something. And update-wise, I was in Bhutan! Adventures chronicled in photos here and in a still-working-on-it blog here

On christmas

Always--sometimes--usually? on christmas, I get one of those anything-is-possible vibes. And though I haven't written anything in months, here's to christmas and hilarious and wonderful families. Here's to New Semester's resolutions, the most comical of injuries, not always knowing what I'm doing, John Lennon's lyrics, and sentences that don't make sense. Here's to seeing a challenge you've never seen before and saying heck yeah I can do that, here's to Bhutan, here's to actually writing something, here's to pottery, and here's to sweet-mother-of-Abraham-Lincoln-I'm-thankful-for-this-life-and-all-the-people-in-it.

The Layers

I have walked through many lives,

some of them my own,

and I am not who I was,

though some principle of being

abides, from which I struggle

not to stray.

When I look behind,

as I am compelled to look

before I can gather strength

to proceed on my journey,

I see the milestones dwindling

toward the horizon

and the slow fires trailing

from the abandoned camp-sites

over which scavenger angels

wheel on heavy wings.

Oh, I have made myself a tribe

out of my true affections,

and my tribe is scattered!

How shall the heart be reconciled

to its feast of losses?

In a rising wind

the manic dust of my friends,

those who fell along the way,

bitterly stings my face.

Yet I turn, I turn,

exulting somewhat,

with my will intact to go

wherever I need to go,

and every stone on the road

previous to me

In my darkest night,

when the moon was covered

and I roamed through wreckage,

a nimbus-clouded voice

directed me:

"Live in the layers,

not on the litter."

Though I lack the art

to decipher it,

no doubt the next chapter

in my book of transformations

is already written.

I am not done with my changes.

-Stanley Kunitz

Places?

Today, I feel like writing. But I have no idea what I feel like writing about.

It's kind of the last free day of summer in Montana--and as usual, I'm sitting in a coffee shop, ruminating on...everything. I guess I'll go with a snapshot of the moment and figure it out from there:

Song: Take a Minute by K'naan (it's been a jam for awhile, simple but well-written and easy to want to chill and dance to simultaneously)

Book: Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer by Novella Carpenter (read it)

Drink: Latte (as usual)

Weather: In a neverending battle between blue skies and possible thunderstorms (also fairly usual for Montana right now)

Feeling: Still uncertain--I'm definitely going to miss Montana, but there's something about this time in life (that college-aged one) where I'm realizing that I'm calling three different cities home for the month of August, and I'm kind of great with the idea of being a quasi-nomad right now. I love each of the places I live--Missoula (and Montana) for the outdoors, love of coffee, college-town atmosphere, great people I've met and times I've had; Placentia for the family and friends and feeling of relaxing and being at home (and birthday celebrations--always love August), New Haven for all of the excitement and chaos that comes with school, seeing friends long unseen, choosing classes, getting back into the swing of things, and being part of community. I'm cool with the traveling and moving around--but at the end of the day, I love being able to connect and reconnect with the people in life, both the transient and permanent relationships.

In lit classes, they always reinforce that setting is both time and place--that without one or the other, you don't really have a setting. In physics (well the heady kind), time is the 4th dimension--you can't ever meet someone somewhere without a place and a time. So here's to settings--places and times together, and liking 'em for what they are in all four dimensions.

There's a realization right now that this (Montana) is a gorgeous, amazing place, and I've been lucky to be here for 2 1/2 months. Rocky Mountain High is playing in my head now (yeah John Denver). Maybe I'll be back (forestry school, anyone?), maybe I'll just remember fondly the places I've been and times I've had. And when I'm in the other places, I'll love them, too.

that's all. (words would detract. besides, i'm already over 1000.)