Skip to main content

Pandemic Journey Day 56

May 16, 2020

Today's observation- Iowa has joined the fray to commence the soft reopening of the economy beyond essentials.  The Purgatory Pub's parking lot had a sizable population of motorcycles and pickups; patrons were all inside. I passed a gregarious outdoor scene at a local café and bar, which must have been almost forty folks dining outside and listening to live music on the lawn.  The front door of a chocolate shop in a river tourist town was open, and an a-frame sidewalk sign reminded viewers that chocolate is an essential commodity.  I agreed with that, but I didn't stop.

I'd loaded my kayak for a paddle, the first of the year, and I chose a launch ramp at a county park and marina just off the Rock Creek in Clinton County because it has canoe trails that network a big area.  While rental boats were not out and available, many private crafts were on the water.  And I counted my blessings to have a wide aquatic berth between me and the ticks. The trunks of hardwood trees in the bottomland forests wore stripes like a wildebeest.  It had not been long since the river had receded from that soggy bottom. The woodpeckers and swifts were the dominant birdlife out today, and a few river cooters sunned on protruding logs.  This float helped me dissipate my angst from the information overload of the past days.  Better to imitate the river flotsam and just go with the flow.

Malcolm Gladwell says it is a good sign when people seek moments of normalcy amid a crisis. The park was brimming with this today, and I think that most of the rabble-rousing, to reopen non-essential businesses we've been reading about, is an effort to reclaim normalcy.  Albeit, that overdramatic response would cast this pandemic (and the federal and state governments' efforts to mitigate infection levels) as a political ploy to subjugate the working class.  The stories we tell ourselves!

Leaving the river, I pushed my outing further with a visit to Eden Valley Nature Reserve, an old homestead made into a public natural area.  Here too, many others needed to get out of the house and the neighborhood. They had set up their campers and RV's or were playing in Bear Creek, or rambling the trail network.  But it was not crowded, much to my relief. Such a sweet spot for a homestead, here was a fertile arable bottom off a healthy little river with tall gnarly limestone outcroppings, making a sheltered palisade into walls and corridors. It did resemble a little Eden and probably has been inhabited for thousands of years before these settlers. It's that kind of place. I imagined up until the invention of internal combustion engine vehicles, this was remote living.  Maybe the family saw their neighbors a few times a month and during winter, less than that.  Days filled with chores, disciplined and rhythmed to keep entropy at bay and crisis mitigated.  A different life dance than we expect today.  When did we shift to living a life that is so presumptive and pleasure-expectant,  one that measures success by the amount of leisure time and stuff? Have we actualized our parents' dreams for the privileged life, made in a moment of frustration with poverty?  That thought makes me wonder. What is the implicit dream that I put forward for my sons to actualize?

There is an art of patience that dwelled in these farm families because the land demanded it. Hardships were a dime a dozen and easy flitted past like the birds and butterflies. In places like this homestead, I think of self-reliance as a successful symbiosis with the place.

Is it too late for a revival of pioneer literature and the transcendentalists? Are these stories and philosophies ancient history, the common threads frayed and falling apart? I get it, that frontier mentality was a big problem. But what endures a crisis is timeless.  These stories intersect with our life to remind us that things will be inconvenient, stressful, painful, dangerous, and even grueling but these times define us.  They hold the opportunity to galvanize and distill out the best parts of us, or to render us to our worst. In the end, entropy will rule the day, always has, always will. So in the meantime, let's exercise the one thing we can control, how we treat one another, and how we live on the planet. 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

2020 Pandemic Journey Day 44

May 4, 2020 Today’s idea – What has the fog of our modern conveniences begat? I read an article last night published in 1950 by Berton Roueche’ titled The Fog . In October 1948, a toxic smog settled on the borough of Donora, PA. This town is tucked away on a meander of the Monongahela River in the Allegheny Mountains.   During that time, it was home to three huge mills, a steel plant, and a zinc and sulfuric acid plant. The towering factory stacks of these industries pushed out thick plumes of coal smoke all day and all week. Also, given the town’s proximity to the river, boats and trains added their emission to the cocktail. To seal the deal, Donora sits in the topography of secluded bluffs and hills that allow for little or no wind to carry the smoke and fumes out of town.   So the place was known to be a smutty, smokey mess, tolerated by residents who referred to the sulfurous stench as the smell of money. On this weekend in October, a thermal inversion put a tighter li...

Covid19 Journey Day 20

April 10, 2020 Today’s idea – Maybe we’ve needed this for a long time.   To be stopped so we could take a long moment and assess what is alive in us and what is mere rote living, what is unnecessary and what really matters; what we carry by empty habit. To know that busier doesn’t make us more worthy- a good work ethic is not to be confused with constant motion.   We’ve needed this to   learn how to be together as family again, to sit together in conversation, to listen to one another, to play and read together, help solve problems even do homework together, cook together, sit around a table again. And to say to each other, here are boundaries, this is okay and that is not okay because we do that for the ones we love. We needed this to understand that isolation can be hard on some people sheltering in place, the abuser with the abused,   those that must shelter alone, those who need consistent home care for a chronic illness or condition, the family receiving h...

Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend

  Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend And life a faithful pillow - a pillow to go flat, a spirit to drift off,  glaciers to melt and raise the sea. The blueprint is clear - Expect a tiny storm of mercy–  full of crows and bottle flies to debride the corpse,  to tithe the land.      And respect the putrid demise - things that fall apart make space for miracles.   Yet there persists the memory of breath rinsed in lavender and salt air. Then the dreams for blood and semen to revive, to metabolize  every tired, sad gospel into a hatch of octopus. Death confesses everything as she conjures her necrosis, as she feigns redemption, fools us with false devotion. She believes our defiance will set her free.   We must let grief to be the thread and needle to darn the rend, renew the cloth. then we can grasp the nascent green of winter wheat in spring.