A Family Walden

My family is fortunate enough to own some land.  I guess I should qualify that.  I have ancestors who worked hard and bought some land and we have been fortunate enough to hold on to that land for over a hundred years.  The land itself is beautiful.  Not grand, not awe-inspiring, but beautiful.  A year-round creek, a cave or two, small bluffs, open pastures, wooded lots.  A great place to be a kid, and not a bad place to be an adult.

There is peace to be found in the land.  Some people can reach that peace by simply being there.  In the evenings, there is a hoot owl that calls from a holler through the ridge opposite the old farmhouse.  In the summer, the air down by the creek is usually about ten degrees cooler, and the sound of the water over the rocks is soothing.  The wind rustles the leaves in the summer and fall, and in the winter will make a lonesome sound as it moves through the naked branches.  On the hill overlooking the farm there is a small stand of Osage orange trees which offers a shady viewpoint.  All of this is there, and all of it will work to ease a troubled mind.  But the troubled mind has to be in the right state first.

Sometimes there are too many things rushing through a troubled mind.  All the problems, the difficulties, and the trials of modern life can stand between the troubled mind and the peace the land has to offer.  The good news is that we as a family know the secret to achieving a state of mind that allows us to really appreciate what exists in our section of the valley.

When we arrive, we usually have a plan of action.  My older brother and his son seem to be currently obsessed with fences and gates.  Robert Frost understood the deal about fences, even though in New England they had walls instead of fences.  "Something there is in Nature that hates a wall"...and a fence.  Usually it isn't natural.  Cows aren't particularly fond of fences, but nature take its toll as well.  They work hard to put in new fences, new gates.

My  younger brother is determined to rid the farm of any unnecessary brush.  He clears the brush from the banks of the creek to allow better recreational access.  He does this by hand.  There are sections accessible to the brush hog for the small tractor we have, but some areas are not.  He clears the brush, stacks it, burns it.  When he is finished, the area is clear.  The cattle have more area to graze, and we have a clearer view of the trout that live in the stream.


My father mows.  People see the farm, and they think that there are still people living there.  The lawn never gets out of hand.  There is quite a bit to mow:  the immediate lawn around the house, then down past the garage to the vineyard, and the vineyard itself.  There is also a small area on the other side of the creek we maintain as a park area.

My area is the garage.  We have taken to gathering in the small, separated building once used as a garage.  It was built in the 70's. It was not built well, and since then, issues have arisen.  I try to find creative, inexpensive ways to improve the garage.  I'm currently insulating it and paneling it with old barn wood.  The wood I am currently working with is rough cut, different sizes.  It comes from a shed, but the shed was built from the remains of a barn that was torn down long before I was born. I think it is beautiful, but I have a long way to go.  I also need more barn wood.  But there is time.

We also often work together on projects.  After one hundred plus years of farming, there is a lot of outdated equipment, old fence, rusting metal scattered here and there.  We work together, gather the metal.  Take it to be recycled.  A good load will give us over a hundred dollars, sometimes close to two.  We use this money for supplies and equipment.  We also cut firewood together.

We get things done, but we know it is not about the product of our labor.  We compliment each others' accomplishments.  But in the end, we know that it is the labor itself that is of value.  It is an investment, not in the land, but in ourselves.  When we have worked to a certain state, we can better enjoy what we have there.  In the land.

Of the several generations who have worked this land, I think most of them understood innately what we have rediscovered.  They had fewer distractions than we have, and they had to work harder in order to keep the land.  We play where they worked.  So maybe we only get a taste of the feast they enjoyed.  But a taste can be enough.  It is for us.