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I must continue to choose the dirt, gravel road over the labored asphalt roadways that many know so well. Gravel roads, to me, the suburb-raised musician but outdoor enthusiast, are synonymous with adventure, unknown, new, undisturbed. On Saturday October 3, 2015, I was invited to visit a space that initially met these terms head-on: adventure, unknown, new and undisturbed. Now, throw in nervous, slightly apprehensive and self-conscious, and a match is made. Occasionally, I worry that land spaces as embodied beings have the capacity to judge, accept and deny. Perhaps, upon entering the land of Gadsby Lake near Tees, Alberta, I considered the possibility of land-space denial. Yet, after being in this space only a short while feeling the fresh, fragrant and fruitful earth below my (damp!) feet, a deep sense of relaxation and ease roused throughout my body and mind.

Inside the land’s homestead, I was greeted by many loving, warm, spirited individuals. Some I already knew very well and was reuniting with after time apart. Some I was meeting for the first time. Throughout the home, an energy of shared-space, shared-ideals, compassionate-community resonated from room to room. Before sitting down to an enormous and bountiful potluck brunch, we gathered in the main living space to reflect and share moments of truth or of thanksgiving and gratitude. I spoke of the land below my feet, the sensations of new earth, and my gratitude for being invited to a sacred and safe environment. From there, we gathered around the table, filling our bellies with a cornucopia of nourishment. I was grateful to sit next to two people whom I had yet to know. Don’t get me wrong — I love sitting by old friends and chatting up a storm! Yet there is something quite renewing in sitting beside an unfamiliar face, sparking new, fresh conversation. We soon told stories of our lives: where we have traveled, lived, studied, how we connect and understand the gracious land around us near Tees. Although, as I say, many of those also gathered were people I’d never met before, I felt, through our mutual ideals and opportunity to have conversations, as though we’d begun our friendship long long ago. Is that not a wonderful feeling?

Following brunch on that rainy and chilly Saturday morning, we took some time to digest and relax in the spaces around us. Then, plans to explore the land and outside-world naturally arose from the group as but simply the next, right thing to do. When these plans were unfolding though,”adventure, unknown, new, undisturbed” returned to mind. However, having been in the presence and company of such gorgeous people that morning… there was nothing more I craved than, in fact, exploring of the land around me in its unknownableness! We donned our warm clothing and headed to the homestead porch into the cool Fall breeze. Some linking arms and all breathing the refreshing, renewing, and energizing Fall prairie air, we made to a nearby field that once welcomed wild horses of grace and and beauty. Here, Carmelle Mohr unwrapped and explained the rich histories and peoples that have found peace, acceptance, love, and hope in hard lives at this particular field, and in each place  we walked and gathered throughout that day. While learning and observing the natural world surrounding that first field, I felt as though, though no longer there (or not yet returned rather!) the horses continued to roam; their energy, spirit, and vigor continue to be as much a part of that land as we were that Saturday afternoon.

From the field that once welcomed the wild and free, we made our way to a more substantial crop field (my apologies for not knowing the technical name). The view. I cannot begin to describe the view. Looking east, a small lake appears and pleasured our sights. Ahead of us towards the lake, we learned that indigenous persons of many communities and foundations joined and performed sacred, traditional healing practices. Here, a soaring tipi once stood. While absorbing and cherishing this blessed past and dreams and hopes of return in the near future, we learned that Carmelle’s grandfather held indigenous communities in tremendous regard and relationship. I have spent considerable time reflecting on this. I understand my surroundings and urbanized center (where I currently reside) as corporate structures that have become but “normative;” the common-practice. It’s true – at times I practice corporate, commercialized and materialistic life. Yet, I am thankful for my awareness of these ways. What would it be like to be raised in indigenous communities, acknowledging the land, the soil, and the plains as fruitful and truly sacred beings? Perhaps we do not need to be raised by Indigenous persons to gain this awareness, gratitude, and sensation of oneness with the earth, the tress, the leafs, and and the soil. Perhaps our awareness of sacred lands and spaces can come about as a result of the communities we engage with. By surrounding ourselves with like-minded, caring, and deeply loving people and communities, no matter how big or small, we, together, become energized, spirited, and blessed by the earth beneath our feet and the rich foliage that meets our eyes.

Before leaving that space to return to an urbanized center, I was asked to dream and imagine what could come of those sacred spaces in future years. I will continue to ponder and imagine that land and space for many years to come, and I hope to return very soon. In this precise moment, while reflecting and writing this entry, I understand that land near Tees, Alberta as a unique, uplifting, and welcoming space for reconciliation, truth, story-sharing, and gathering. Perhaps many of the Indigenous communities that once shared that soil and space can come together again with non-Indigenous persons in coexistence. From there, perhaps we can learn from each other, explore the land again, and forge moments of peace, sacredness, life. Together, it is my hope that we breathe the same air in communion with the soil, the trees, the water, the wildlife, the natural world, and with each other.

The following was anonymously submitted to me.

When it comes to the oil and gas industry, it’s so easy to point fingers, but, whether we like it or not, participate in the oil and gas industry daily. By turning on a light switch, we are participating. By having the convenience of running tap water, we are participating. What is difficult is having an open conversation about the topic. Often that conversation, which we think is an open conversation, turns into a heated argument because there is defensiveness on one side and finger pointing on the other. How can we minimize these effects? How can we be open to hearing people’s sides of the story? How can we be part of a positive relationship between what seems to be like oil and water: a relationship between environment and industry? It’s hard to get passed the negative stigma that is already engrained in our brains. It’s hard to, instead of judging and becoming frustrated, simply listening to what the other person has to say. Creating a level playing field is difficult. On watersoftenerguide.com you can learn more about how you can protect yourself from the realities of water these days.

I’m looking forward to the conference because it creates a space for open conversation with people coming from all different types of work fields and stages in life. It sets up an even playing field for discussion on how we begin to make change.

 

The newborn harvest moon hangs low in the pre dawn sky and beckons me outward into creation. The cool autumn air rushes into my lungs as I feel the freedom of being alone in nature. The palatable beams of the moon shimmer hazily through the palette of fall leaves the colours still slightly obscure in the dim light. The silence is broken by the echoes of bird calls through the valley and the rumbling whistle of the train. The world slowly awakens as the stars fade into day. For me this moment changes everything. It reminds me of what is important.The tune of an old hymn floats melodically through my thoughts:

 

All creatures of our God and King
Lift up your voice and with us sing,
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Thou burning sun with golden beam,
Thou silver moon with softer gleam!
O praise Him! O praise Him!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Thou rushing wind that art so strong
Ye clouds that sail in Heaven along,
O praise Him! Alleluia!
Thou rising moon, in praise rejoice,
Ye lights of evening, find a voice!
O praise Him! O praise Him!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Thou flowing water, pure and clear,
Make music for thy Lord to hear,
O praise Him! Alleluia!
Thou fire so masterful and bright,
That givest man both warmth and light.
O praise Him! O praise Him!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Dear mother earth, who day by day
Unfoldest blessings on our way,
O praise Him! Alleluia!
The flowers and fruits that in thee grow,
Let them His glory also show.
O praise Him! O praise Him!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

And all ye men of tender heart,
Forgiving others, take your part,
O sing ye! Alleluia!
Ye who long pain and sorrow bear,
Praise God and on Him cast your care!
O praise Him! O praise Him!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Let all things their Creator bless,
And worship Him in humbleness,
O praise Him! Alleluia!
Praise, praise the Father, praise the Son,
And praise the Spirit, Three in One!
O praise Him! O praise Him!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

 

It changes everything when we learn to view nature as a creation like ourselves that was made to bring praise to God.

The following statements from the book Making Peace with the Land help draw together the importance of seeing the land in this created way, “…reconciliation is about bringing all bodies into a peaceful, life-promoting and convivial relationship with one another…The reconciliation of only human souls with each other, however commendable and beautiful, would be an impoverished reconciliation if such souls were confined to bodies that must eat, drink and breathe their way through a poisoned and degraded creation” (Bahnson and Wirzba 24). What if these environmental problems of poisoned and degraded land that we see today are a result of our failure to be aware of God`s presence in the land? Therefore reconciliation with the land involves seeing God’s presence in it and allowing ourselves to be changed by being close to the land (Bahnson and Wirzba 55). This closeness to the land was very evident in Naomi Klein’s film “This Changes Everything.”  We saw people who were forced to eat, drink and breathe in a smoggy, polluted and exploited creation; people who stood together in solidarity asking to be able to be reconciled to their lands.

I appreciated that this film explored both the global and local impacts of the resource extraction industry. It made the issues both personal and close to home and widespread, unjustly affecting the entire globe. Telling the story of the Beaver Creek First Nation people here in Alberta made the film very relevant to the audience. I appreciated the approach of the film to tell stories and to unfold how we have been telling ourselves the wrong story for years. The film poignantly but unaggressively explains that the current story needs to change. They acknowledge that such a change will not happen overnight but that it will be a transition to renewable energy and environmental stewardship. The new story will be different, but will offer many opportunities for people to use the same skills that they use to further develop the current story to write the new one.

The most powerful moment in the film for me was when there was the oil spill on the farm of the couple from Montana. The woman’s connection and love of this land that she had lived on her entire life was so evident and it was heartbreaking to see the instant devastation of their land which they had worked so hard to care for. This love for their land that this couple have and the people of Beaver Creek First Nation have is what changes everything; it changes the story that they are a part of. Being connected to a place is what motivates me to enter the new story. Being connected to a place and recognizing the risks that the current story poses to that place is what changes everything for me.

 

 

How does one come to have a sense of gratitude towards the gifts of the land? For me, it has come through personal experiences on the land. This summer I had the privilege to work on a farm and grow vegetables and it has been through this hands-on experience that a sense of wonder and gratitude has grown in me.

Michael Pollen talks often in his book The Omnivore’s Dilemma about how our conventional food system keeps us blind and alienated from the sources that our food comes from and the journeys that it takes to reach our table. To plant and nurture seeds oneself, rips away the blinders of the industrial food system and connects one back to the earth that has been made to nourish. To plant a seed and see it grow into a mature plant that could produce such bountiful amounts of food never ceases to cause me to wonder. I am in awe of this natural miracle. Munju Ravindra writes that “the key to our survival is wonder” and “in wonder is the preservation of the soul.” Wonder is lost when we lose connection to the natural world and to our food.

Kelly Coyne and Erik Knutzen write about their experience as urban homesteaders in Hope Beneath our Feet. They write that “it is pleasure that inspires [them] to do more and more.” This pleasure is described in greater depth as fresh tomatoes still warm from the sun or orange-yolked eggs from your own hens. Many people would see what people like Kelly and Erik do as backwards or lots of unnecessary work, but it seems that once one has experienced the pleasure and wonder of growing their own food – there is no going back. No food will taste better then food grown yourself, and the whole process of caring for the earth and plants that will meet our needs creates a new relationship to food.

One moment that I would like to mention that stood out to me was the last week on the farm we butchered roosters. When I was young and I had been an observer to chicken harvesting and cattle butchering before but this was the first time that I can actually remember being a part of it hands on. I can’t say that it was a life changing experience, but it connects me deeper to my food and am able to be more grateful to the animals that have given their lives so that I can have food to eat. The processing of the roosters began with a prayer giving thanks for the lives of the birds and for the nourishment that they would bring. This is such a different way to approach food then on a mass industrial level. I can be more grateful for the life of the plant or animal that I have on my plate when I have had a close experience with similar beings. It is good to be reminded from time to time that for me to live something else had to die.

“I come into the peace of wild things…For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”

-Wendell Berry

I was created to be on the land it is part of me and I am part of it in that I am reliant on the land for my survival. My soul is free and at peace when I come into nature and wild places. It is a natural place to be.

Don Ruzicka speaks to how he feels the Spirit in the land, in the sunflowers, in the diversity and in the wild places. It is true his land has Spirit. It is healthy and happy land that nourishes healthy and happy humans and animals. The land is made right, in that it is being cared for naturally and sustainably. This makes it truly alive. Years ago Don and Marie began their journey to make peace with the land and it has become a part of them. Don claims that this natural wild area that he has restored is the reparation for his sins in plowing the land and destroying habitat when he was a conventional farmer trying to squeeze the most possible from the earth. But now he refuses to jeapordize the health of the land and will not over-use it. Don says that everything that gives Spirit to the land is lost when one tries to max out the land.

I could have stayed there forever. I wish we had more time on the farm and could have spent some time walking around by ourselves in order to be able to better observe the land after we had breifly experienced it through the stories of Don. To be alone in the land is to be able to see and hear things that one wouldn’t otherwise be able to see and hear and we learn to experience and love the land more deeply like someone like Aldo Leopold.

What I struggle with the most is that I am confronted with my complete ignorance when it comes to farming and caring for the landwhen I meet people like Don and Marie. How can the knowledge and experience that they have from years of caring for the land be shared with others. How can I learn from them and not make the same mistakes in my journey with the land? I was so encouraged to hear that Don is seeking to educate people and that he wants to leave a “manuel” for his land to whoever cares for it after him.  After the need to be more educated the next obstacle that I face when I am insprised by farmers like the Ruzicka’s is access to land. How do I ever afford land while still choosing to support myself with work that is ethical and fulfilling?

 

By Carmelle Javney Mohr (Long-inspired by Jonathan O’Donohue, Bayo Akomolafe, Wendell Berry, Mary Oliver, Rumi, Rilke, Frost, and Farley Mowat‘s wolves)

A two-part piece spoken Oct. 10, 2015 at the Celebration of Life for Lorraine Kasube Mohr. It is originally-formed and intended as spoken-word, however a written-script appears here. Part I is interwoven words of Carmelle Mohr and Parker Palmer in tapestry; Part II, by Carmelle Mohr. For the possibility that the one, wild and wonderful life of Lorraine Mohr (and Mark Chytracek) may continue bringing beauty into being, this piece is here offered unto the public sphere.

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Autumn is a season of exhilarating beauty. It is also though, the steady decline, a deepening melancholy. The days become shorter and colder, the trees shed their glory, summer’s abundance decays into winter’s still. Initial delight in the autumnal colours that burst forth as Summer Falls each year – the beauty evoked in front of our eyes when Season eclipses Season! – can easily disintegrate into a sadness. Nature’s golden-leafed carpet, magnificently lain before us to walk forth into the day upon is beautiful… But, all this beauty is the fading away of life once vivacious and strong; keen-youth that was once unyeilding in the wind. All is dying. Even amidst the shimmering gold and crystal-sapphire backdrop skies, it is easy to allow the prospect of death to shadow all that Fall is also.

 

There is a simple fact though: all the ‘falling’ is also full of promise. The theology of Compost no? Seeds are planting in moist earth, leaves are composting. This death is Earth preparing for an uprising of green. Yet again.

As I weather the autumns in my life, nature is a trustworthy guide. We humans easily affix our gaze upon the falling; upon that which goes to ground. The decline of physical strength; the disintegration of a relationship; the diminishment of joy; the loss of a beloved. But just as autumn seeds the earth, life’s harshness seeds us too. In each experience of loss something is indeed dying. Yet, also, deep, amid the falling, silently, lavishly, seeds of new life are being sown.

Are the sensuous glories of autumn but not the grand affirmation that new life is hidden in dying! Yet whom of us paints deathbed scenes with the vibrant and vital palette nature uses? When we fear death, fix our gaze upon that which is parting, beyond our control into a space beyond our ability to ‘prove,’ we blind ourselves to the grace Death possesses.

However if this is Nature’s testimony, how can it be fathomed? Dying is devastating, yet, say you, also the container of beauty? In the unimaginable that sisters and brothers around the world suffer, in disease such as dementia, as Alzheimer’s, as depression, or suddenly extinguished life – how dare there be beauty within such pain?!

Yet how dare there not be.

Once again, I find Nature a trustworthy guide. In the Natural World, diminishment and beauty, darkness and light, death and life are not opposites. They are paradox. When held together they reveal that in all things there is a ‘hidden wholeness.’ Even and especially in suffering, trauma, death. In a paradox, opposites do not negate each other, they co-create in mysterious unity; the mysterious unity which is the grace of the world. A mystery that defies modern conceptualization. But one that is, surely, the heart of reality.

Of course we prefer the ease of either/or to the complexities of both/and so we have a hard time holding opposites together. We want light without darkness, the glories of spring without
the demands of winter, the pleasures of life without the pangs of death. But neither just light, nor just darkness can truly enliven us. On their own without their counter-part neither can sustain us in hard times. When I reject the inevitable diminishment of summer, when we so fear death, the result is artificial light that is glaring and graceless. The moment we say ‘yes’ to both however and they join in paradoxical dance, the two make us whole. Life conquers death. And faith is a cascade.

I shall always grieve when beauty goes to ground. But Autumn is also for celebration. Autumn is also Thanksgiving for the primal power that promises to make all things new, desde siempre hasta siempre. When I give myself over to this organic reality – to the endless interplay of darkness and light, falling and rising, grandmother and granddaughter – I am given a life as meaningful and whole as this graced and graceful world and the seasonal cycles that make it so.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Lorraine Honey Kasube Mohr is my grandmother. I am her youngest grandchild. She was my main reason for returning to this part of the prairie about seven years ago. Over the course of those years, I departed and returned to her side from different corners of the world, and she began a gentle stroll back into the past.

Honey’s memory was impeccably sharp don’t you know. To the final day Honey remembered how to write in shorthand and not too long ago would’ve delighted and delivered at the request to recite each school teacher and president she ever had. Walking through the sequential doorways of Past though, meant that Honey gradually forgot me as her granddaughter. And so in the last 6 years together, Honey and I have held a different relationship, ushered into a rather strange place – one that refuses the characteristic earmarks of location and fixity, colour and time. The place we shared was hard to be in. Yet, also, as her memories faded like little passings along the way, a new beauty appeared in each. I want to tell you a bit about that beauty. I also had the honour of walking Lorraine out as she stepped unto the horizon, and want you to share this peace.

Lorraine fell asleep in a wash of blue. Her room like her wardrobe like her eyes were gentle, calm, blue arctic skies. Blue was her multimedia canvas. “5 foot 2,” she’d say proudly… “eyes of blue.” In robes of this wondrous colour, she walked from this world. Royal, indeed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first hour of her last day was a starry night. Silent night. I was cycling back after the quickest breath away under a deep navy blue, my gaze affixed to be by her side. As I parked my bike, I glanced sky-ward, from habit not conscious. My breath was stolen – stars were brightening like I’d never seen before. And countless are the times I’ve gazed into this canvas, drifted asleep in canoe underneath it, painted futures of world peace into the endless navy. Yet the stars were brightening like I’d never before known. The Prairie’s Nightcloak, if you’ve not yet met, is embroidered in milk way and Orion cowboy belt. This night, it shone at its finest. Each star pin-pricked through, like windows into the realm, shh! just beyond! Then, a warm breeze came arushing down the road, like upon a bending river. Through rock and mortar, it rushed through without passing glance, as
though this built landscape truly was but 17 years old in a land of Ever. They were drawing near. Ancestors and beloveds-gone-before. They were coming. Coming to welcome the way of the Lord.

Dementia, Alzheimer’s disease, are cruelest ways to pass from this world. As the grandchild forgotten many moons ago, I’ve tasted an ounce of the suffering this illness unleashes, silently. Any who’ve witnessed a beloved endure it would unreservedly give our lives if it but could save another from it. Alas.
Its common trait is the disintegration of a person’s social graces: of kindness, compassion, gentleness. In other words, all that was Honey. We offer utmost thanks however for here Honey was anomaly. To the final hour, she was the sweetest, kindest, generous person you have ever met. Six grandchildren bet their lives on this claim.

Sometimes though – because I was a bit of an unstickable in her mind – Honey didn’t always don her Sunday best in my presence if you know what I mean. The harshness of these moments were dark. They were also, though, where I came to see something I’d never before been able to. All these years, underneath the role in which she and others donned her entirely – ‘Servant’… was a strong, unique, sovereign, and unpredictable woman. Her proper person. Lorraine the softball pitcher; Lorraine the quick wit; Lorraine the valedictorian; Lorraine the remarkable shot spitting water through her teeth; Lorraine the woman who sided with the meekest no matter the social consequence. In these slips of graciousness, or slips of ‘Honey-ness,’ Lorraine Mohr was a fearsome, wondrous beauty to behold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Fall in Camrose has been prolonged, lasting. Too lasting. So too was Honey’s passing. In some ways 10 years long. This summer’s abundant sun soaked deeply into the soil. Today, these summer rays live anew in the hues of gold and green and brown that shimmer this landscape. So too, Honey’s love abundant, soaked deeply into this place, into you and I, this community, this Earth. So too, as she fell away, beauty was brought into being anew.

As I began to disappear from Honey’s memory as her “granddaughter,” she as my “Grandmother” disappeared too. Up till then these had been the names by which we’d known each other. Now though they simply no longer made sense. So it was time to uncover new ones by which we’d know each other, flipping the page, hand upon hand, into the next chapter together.

So I became her “young friend,” and she became my “old friend.” A year or so later, I’d become her “daughter-in-law,” so she became my “mother-in-law.” Eventually, each visit was a ‘first’ visit, so these names fell away too. Now I had become “Stranger.” So she became “Stranger” too. But strangers merely awaiting a meeting to be friends. We got to meet each other many times.

In the final chapter of Honey’s story, our bodies, if they could be names, fell away too. For now we were and forever shall be two souls accompanying each other. Our bodies in static chairs but spirits alive in adventurous story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The memories that in many ways make Honey Honey, that make Mom Mom, that make Lorraine Lorraine, slowly faded and for this we have been grieving and hating for 10 years. But in each passing falling memory, Honey also arose. Anew. The grace of this world – that in which Honey’s faith ne’er failed – never let one chapter of Honey’s story end with death. Instead each time she was undressed from her stories, she put on more of the Holy story; the story that binds all as one family of one Place. Each falling leaf was the becoming of sacred. And so in the final moments I tell you, Lorraine became an angel. Actually.

To be the grandchild of Lorraine Mohr is to be blessed and humbled by a generosity of love so abundant, unreserved, outpoured… That one might have something to offer her, (as though something were absent) is not a thought the mind can imagine. Lorraine fell away from this world in peace though and I want you to know that, for I can tell you that. I’ve sailed the Ship into the horizon and stepped ashore where death and life eternal kiss. Where the gold sun sets. So, I’d like you to know that throughout the final days and final breaths, I could tell Lorraine that it would be okay. That it is beautiful there. That we would be okay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And so heads resting on pillow together, we breathed in and out, looking up through the mortar into the night’s canvas beyond. The clock chimed 8:30pm. Her and Papa’s soundtrack. A warm breeze entered the room. Randy took his place by her side. Brother George next, then Sister Ethel, Arlene, Mother Minnie, Daughter Christine, and others whose faces are not for my knowing. Just beyond, a chorus began, softly. ‘Gloria, gloria…’

Lorraine breathed her last in gentleness which is what she was in this world, and always shall be.

Thanks Be for our little blue sister. May we be her living memory now; a light in the dark.

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It seems from reading on agrarian perspectives that contentment is something that can come out of one’s deep connection to the land. To transform our minds toward a more agrarian perspective would be to become less aware of the commodities that are bombarding us through media and grow in our awareness and care for the land. In class we discussed how to embody contentment is to break down the industrial paradigm; this is because the industrial system treats people merely as consumers of commodities. Therefore when one recognizes the difference between needs and wants and chooses to say “no” to the endless stream of advertisements the power of the dominant system is stripped away and given back to the individual to control his/her own thoughts/feelings/choices. One can now find contentment. Contentment is not passive it is a constant choice to not consume beyond one’s needs, to release the desires to accumulate unnecessarily, and to find a sense of peace and belonging where one is at.
In my own journey of contentment, I can recognize the turning point where I changed and began to make choices differently. Before this point, I can identify with Norman Wirzba’s words: “The body fills us with wants, fears and all sorts of illusions that invariably put us on a path toward disappointment, frustration, and war – war within ourselves over what we crave, and war with others as we compete for the wealth and comfort that comes from the acquisition of material goods” (from “Placing the Soul” The Essential Agrarian Reader).
I have had the unique privilege to step away from the bustle of the city and the constant indoctrination of consumer culture for a few years and had the opportunity to live in a small mountain community. Away from the cultural distractions and pressures, I was able to recognize the war that these things wage against my ability to be at peace. In “The Mind-Set of Agrarianism… New and Old” by Maurice Telleen (The Essential Agrarian Reader) there is a set of Ten Agrarian Commandments. #2 says “Enough is enough. Optimum is often better than maximum” and my favourite in terms of contentment is #6 “Accept limits with grace…Limits are not shackles; in fact, many of them are liberating.” If people were to examine my life they might think “I live in a box” or that my life is a bit backwards, unmodern or that it is shackled, but I would argue the opposite. Because I was removed from common societal comings and goings I have less distractions and what some might say is limiting is truly liberating. I have been able to break the war of consumerism and learn to choose to be content. Contentment brings peace and freedom not bondage. To be content creates in one the self discipline to say no to some options and opens the door to a more fulfilled life of relationship with people and the land because less energy is being spent on things that don’t really matter anyway.
“…we must give thanks and commit ourselves to the responsible work of caretaking and celebration. Only then will the soul, now properly situated in a body and place, find its true peace.”
– Norman Wirzba “Placing the Soul” The Essential Agrarian Reader

An Introductory Reflection:

My motives for enrolling and what I hope to achieve from this class.  

When I was younger I used to fantasize about my dream wedding, as, in my defence a lot of  young women still do. I picture all our loved ones gathered together in one place to celebrate, bear witness, and, more importantly, support and advise us throughout our journey. As a young girl, I remember that it was important to my close friends to get married in a church before God as their witness and, since it is deem an appropriate tradition, I went along with it. However, as I got older my thoughts returned to this question. One day I asked my mom why we never went to church and why she stopped going when she got married? Her answer was simple, she said it was because she felt much closer to God outside at home than in a church. Not long after this conversation I understood or gained perspective on what she meant. It was the beginning of calving season in January, my favorite time of year, and it must have been about 12 o’clock at night. The air was crisp and my flashlight battery softly buzzed. We climbed over the fence and into the corrals where cows were buried in the straw, with snow caked on their backs. My mom, kind of talking to herself, asked what would it be like if so many people were penned up in close proximity to one-another, and what would they do? I was shuffling around behind her trying to catch up as she stopped walking and turned off her flashlight. I followed suit and there we stood, under the clear sky with the soft moans of cows surrounding us. It was here, in this moment, where I felt like I was in complete peace. This overwhelming awe and happiness came about me, to witness the cows nestle together without a strife or sore to pick, the cold air that cleansed, and the beauty of nature from the star-filled sky to the woman that stood beside me, rough hands and crinkled eyes.

I think this is the place where I fell in love with nature and my parent’s farm. I have not yet come across a place I felt more connected to. To this day I would carry on my mother’s ritual. I would go outside, check the cows, sink into the deep snow, and simply witness. I think sitting there in complete silence and in the company of my cows has taught me more about myself and who I wanted to be than any other experience. I loved being out there because this is where I felt closest to God. And so, as I am overly invested in the matters of the heart, I realized that the only thing I really wanted for my ‘dream’ wedding is to get married somewheres out there in nature.

Since my arrival at Augustana, university has changed me. My faith became more of something that I had to actively seek and choose rather than letting it be apart of who I am. My believing was dependent on disciplinary means, such as studying the Bible, verses listening in on my inner instincts. Although all these things are vastly important, this type of approach to faith only pays attention to one aspect of faith in a larger sense. I see how student life changed my approach to faith as it began to mirror the values of the university. Being in an atmosphere where I feel like I have no time to think but simply adapt to what I am told and to do as they say changed my ability to appreciate, gain perspective, or become passionate about certain topics.  I interpreted the ‘performance of intelligence’, being well read and charismatic, as being more important than understanding the basic human response to suffering, discrimination, and inequality. At a larger sense, allowing one’s self to care, not to develop a proactive solution or try to justify for or against something but simply to stop and care. To me university also did not seem to value either practical knowledge or one’s own personal beliefs (as it may sway one’s perspective; personal bias).  Anything that I believed in that was not  ‘rational’ or ‘logic’ I felt as if people classified in me as naive. It is wrong to act on ideals, how we wish the world could be, because it portrays us as vulnerable, open for being cheated. I was left with the controversy of doing what is smart and acting on hope. Hope, the love of life.    

I really started second guessing myself and I tried to abandon the fundamental parts of what made me me. I was ashamed of myself and I developed a social anxiety.  I believed that what I stood for was altogether naive and intangible.The way I felt about nature, about God, and life all seemed to vanish within a short instance. I felt nothing, I had no pulse. I couldn’t love, I didn’t have the capacity to support anyone, and the worst part was I couldn’t hurt.  Not feeling anything is the only thing that I could feel. My body, mind, and soul were completely disconnected. The things that would have once made me cry in the past would make me cry involuntarily, however without the remorse that was pitted in my stomach. I was burnt out and I had no idea how to escape from this.  

It wasn’t until I enrolled in “Spirituality and Globalization” that things started to look up. It helped me ask myself about what I thought and, more importantly, to think that what I had to say mattered. Reflecting on my life and putting it down into words helped me appreciate all the amazing people (those who love me, those who have shaped me, and those who have shown me grace) to lead me on my path in life. This class was the first class where I actually learnt something.  This course helped me pick up the pieces of my life and made it something worthwhile to live for. I am so thankful and grateful to have had the opportunity to enroll in this class. I don’t think people know how much impact we have on one another and how in those moments they carry a piece of someone else inside for them.

When I heard they were offering a course that took on a similar approach as “Spirituality and Globalization” I couldn’t not enroll. I have become  a big advocate for experiential learning. I have come to realize that knowledge is nothing without perspective; that there is no such thing as a smart man but a man of experience.  I also wanted to re-establish my connection with the land. Living in town and being over consumed by education I have lost sight of nature as a teacher and a giver. And most importantly I have enrolled in this class because I want to re-establish my relationship with God. I believe nature has the ability to move us away from the cultural influences and focus us more purposefully on Him. I want to develop a deep and personal relationship with God, to change this paradigm from obeying and proactively following God, so that one can feel worthy of His love, to loving Him first and wanting to actively follow and obey Him. I want to love oriented by grace. To want to appreciate and recognize His works. To see Him as a child does and love Him like a child would.

I live in the Ravine and in case you are not familiar with the dorm rooms, they take an insurmountable amount of effort in order to make them look not as dreary as they actually are. And on that Thursday night, I was exposed to the quintessence of life, the epitome of humanity; a sublime way of living. It was a place that was filled with the spirit of God. The witnessing of the ethereal sunset setting on top of the land that waved as we walked by, while it scratched at our faces and brushed our hair with its brilliant colour and intricate brush strokes; this, combined with the companionship among a group of people I used to call strangers, is why I felt utter peace.  

Then it all changed as soon as I stepped into my dorm room. I stood in the doorway with my already wilting sunflower and the both of us stared at the off-white walls. We couldn’t help but feel like we were entering willingly into a place that had no right to be even called a place. There was no longer a cool breeze, no lingering smell of warmth, no sound broke through the walls and erupted our senses. It was completely devoid of sunlight and psyche. Devoid of what we call the weather and what the Ancient Chinese called the “Ch’i of Heaven”. In this human made apparatus, the universal breath of the earth was no where to be felt.

What I felt like my sunflower and I returned to was darkness and constraint. We started to feel claustrophobic, like we were being forced into a colourless, lifeless, concreteness. Coerced by not anyone in particular but by the way we were brought up to exist: to be easily manipulated. I placed the sunflower, the token of sustainability and altruism, in a gatorade bottle filled with water on my windowsill, and it looked absolutely miserable. As if it knew that it was plucked from its natural home and brought to this placelessness of steel and translucent air, it stared out my window with a hunched back; already counting the days until it finally withers and dies.

And that is exactly how I felt, as I stood in the doorway of my dorm room, while my roommate explained to me the mundane meeting she had to go to that night and the in-class essay she was preparing for the next day. I began to feel a slow profound sadness that seeped in at the thought of my inevitable ignorance and the helplessness toward how I was living. I am not at all saying that I wish to leave Augustana; in fact I believe that I belong here. But as I was sobbing in the shower that night at the fact that Don and Marie wake up each morning to the ephemeral light in their kitchen window, collect the eggs, and start their day’s work, (I am fully aware, that this is at best, a very untrue and cliche farm image, but how and ever.) I began to realize that I was living in a very socially constructed world so detached and cut off from the home that I was created to be amalgamated with.

A wave of nostalgia over took me and I realized that I missed the way we all sat on the back of those trucks as powerfully as I miss my family back home. The trucks drove us through puddles, pot holes, and uneven ground, but no one fell off. As we were bunched together, enjoyably being with our little, temporary “families”, we sat uncomfortably, our hands turned white while holding on for dear life, and we swayed and bumped into one another. But we laughed and discussed the technicalities of living. We talked of the ingenuity of the ways in which the farm sustained life for all living things, (the last of all and the servant of all), and the ingenuity of the way the paradigm of purchasing and consuming treats us, yet tricks us from the day we learned to inhale. 

We discussed how human beings are vulnerable megalomaniacs and are very aware of it. And we talked about beauty and the sublime that one can be sure to find even in the bleakest of winters, and the simplicity of such greatness. But it was only in retrospect that I realized that this was the ultimate metaphor for life. The land is our home, and we were slowly passing through it, sometimes stopping to admire and dwell in the details, but ultimately hopping back on those trucks to carry on. At the end of the day, when the sun cast its final shadow on the fur of the earth as it sleepily sank into a deepening darkness, we hopped off those trucks for a final time, said our goodbyes, took a sunflower and a cookie, and returned home, more content than ever.

If I hate anything, it is the arrogance of ignorance. I was taught from many important people in my life that a lack of awareness is what we are born into and it is a very deep trench that is difficult to climb out of. I am a child of humanity, and therefore an automatic child of naivety and vulnerability. I feel that by simply living, I am subconsciously contributing to sinister corruption based on the fact that we all are hypocrites whether we choose to be or not. Everything we buy from the store, everything we eat, everything we wear, everything we listen to on the television, radio, and internet are the reasons why this earth is slowly depleting. We are sheltered and with being sheltered, we grow hungry, so we are fed lies. But if we ignore are hunger for just a moment and think about the immense destruction human beings are capable of, we would all be deeply disgusted, and this disgust would be the catalyst for change. And that is exactly what the eminent “they” are trying to hide from us. They manipulate us into believing that we are not capable of thinking, and by doing so, we are slowly losing our free will and the earth is slowly losing its patience as well as its capacity to survive.  It is only when one of us breaks through the cycle and refuses to spin round and round the two faced system that keeps tugging at you to keep on moving with the rest of the crowd, to not dare stand up and stand out. It is only when one of us says the simple “no”, that the cycle slowly starts to slow down, and ignorance and naivety recede. Edmund Burke sums this all up quite nicely by saying that “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good [people] do nothing”.

But I am a student. At a University. My choices are limited greatly by my monetary circumstances. I am surrounded by the exploitation of resources. Everything encapsulating me has been or will be demolished for the sake of my comfort and security. I drive to Walmart to purchase commodities that I do not need. I eat the meat of cows, pigs, and chickens that barely lived through the torment they suffered in their short lives. All of these issues boil down to the fake democracy we are living in and the éminence grise feudalistic world that lurks in the background.

Our world has turned too materialistic and has been filled with an abundance of avarice that is slowly taking the place of what we call inanimate, abiotic objects that fail to fit what we deem “being alive”. Humanity sees itself as preeminent in all aspects, and that those that are not properly equipped with a human voice are not worthy of any justice, let alone proper acknowledgement. But what we are somehow failing to take into consideration is the fact that these abiotic objects are the key sources and foundation of our existence.We are capable of the abuse and slaughter of living, breathing beings who feel emotion and pain. So that begs the question: what exactly are we doing to the inhabitants of this earth that do not have faces and cannot breathe? What is the magnitude of the pain we cause to those things that we deem not human, not alive, therefore irrelevant? I do not think our minds have the capacity to wrap around the immensity of the ruination we cause. We have become so detached from our earth. And our hubris, megalomania, and avarice have caused that detachment. This is not who we were created to be. This type of mind set is the essence of inhumanity.

There is a reason as to why the earth is described with female pronouns, and given a maternalistic title. Sometimes known as Gaia, she is fertile; she gives life and takes care of the ones whom she houses. She is our mother but as powerfully as she brings life, she can just as easily remove it, and when we don’t treat her with the respect she not only deserves but needs, our race will vanquish with her. We have become dependant on impermanent materialism and it will be our downfall. We try to objectify and possess everything, but the land that we stand on is in possession of Life itself.

There is hope though. As there always will be. Because each of us recognizes that our planet is immensely beautiful, and to a certain extent, vulnerable as well. And I believe that when we step back and view ourselves from a philosophical self- conscious perspective, all of us will find those maternalistic qualities: the need to give, the need to protect, as well the capability to love.

So to conclude, my sunflower did die. And when it reached the point where I finally decided to let it go, it was no longer the great flower that it used to be. It was drooped over and it looked tired, where as at the Rusicka’s Sunset Farm, it was so full of the sun. The five days it spent in my room was the last of its life, but by simply being there, my dorm room was filled with a holy refulgence. Some of us go to great lengths to brighten up our rooms: fancy lighting and posters. But the sunflower is all we need to bring light into our homes, and they are not just temporary flowers used for decoration. Slowly, we are reverting back to our sources and the division between infrastructure and the environment will diminish.