Of Earth and People

About a month ago, a friend of mine had a going away party at his family’s home, about an hour north of Denver.

As you drive north of Denver, you leave the city behind and travel through towns sparsely placed between ranches, farms, grasslands full of livestock. This home we went to was one of those in between towns. We parked in a dirt field that contained a few well-worn trucks and a trailer or two. We were welcomed like family and walked into an old farmhouse, built in 1910, and full of character. There were memories sprinkled generously about the house in the form of knickknacks and books and various other things. The floors were raw wood, sanded smooth by long years of family footsteps. The farm was full of life, including 70 goats, 16 cats, 4 or 5 dogs, a horse, and one chicken.

Behind the house was an outbuilding that had been made of whatever was spare and lying around. Walls of weathered wood. a ceiling of burlap and netting and pieces of lumber, an old wood burning stove. Lightbulbs were strung together and hung up behind various shades that gave a warm glow to the place. On one end was a bar that was well made by someone’s hand. Scattered around were a few chairs made of other chairs, a workbench, a bed; an eclectic collection of stuff hung up on the walls. It felt like a great place to hide from the world, maybe with a friend, and read a book. Or write one. There wasn’t a lot of space….but there always seemed to be room for just one more person.

I had not met many of these folks before, but it didn’t seem to matter. We were there , we were invited, therefore we were welcome. Several people lived there. I got the impression that some of them wandered in and needed a place to stay and were given one. I’m sure it wasn’t really that simple, but the impression was that no body in need would be turned away. They were family, whether they were blood or not. Everyone was pitching in. They let the kids help feed the baby goats, which my son loved. It didn’t seem like they felt it was work, just something that needed done so they did it. The home was a place of love and cheer and warmth.

I kept thinking that they were people of the earth, like characters out of a Steinbeck novel. Another friend of mine said they reminded him of the Weasleys from Harry Potter. Lots of stuff everywhere and they were always warm and welcoming. It felt like walking into a different world from where I live. There is a certain draw in that lifestyle for me somehow. My Great Grandfather and Great Grandmother Thomas had a farm out in Nebraska a long time ago, maybe that feeling is in my blood. Oh, I don’t think for a moment that I have what it takes to make a farm or ranch successful. I could never brand an animal or help birth a cow. I tend to kill plants no matter how hard I try not to. But there was something out there, a feeling of a connection to the land, to the earth, to where I come from, that I feel like I am missing.

The people out there were just so—- real. Genuine. That drew me in also. How nice would the world be if we were able to extend a warmth, a welcome, a plate of food, a smile, to someone who needed it? Maybe we all need to reconnect to the earth, to each other, to the land, to whatever it is inside of us that makes us human. Maybe if we were better connected to the earth, we would take better care of it. And maybe, if we were better connected to each other, we would take better care of each other, too.

Peace,

Kathie