For most of last year, I kept a sometime blog at EcoHearth. I stopped keeping the blog when graduate school got too much for me, which was in about two seconds. I called the blog "My Real World."
Below is an explanation as to why . . .
My Ecology: Rambles Around About Our Place in the Real World
Read this and pause . . .
“The real world goes like this: The Never Summer Mountains like a jumble of broken glass. Snowfields weep slowly down. Chambers Lake, ringed by trees, gratefully catches the drip in its tin cup, and gives the mountains their reflection in return. This is the real world, indifferent, unburdened.”
James Galvin, writing in his memoir, “The Meadow,” about the land he lives on and with in Northern Colorado near Wyoming.
Think . . . about the real world and your place in the real world. All my life, I have been trying to go into the real world. For moments, I have. I have never stayed.
When I was a girl, I used to ride a horse every summer up a mountain all the way to the top to visit the meadow there. The entire ride, I would wait for the moment when we paused at the entrance to the meadow and once there, I would gasp. The meadow that I dreamed about all winter long — the wide expanse of earth, the sky touching the mountains and draping the aspens ringing the meadow, the masses of flowers, their colors, the green, green grass, the sun warming me after ridging for hours in the shade — was always more, more beautiful then my dream. I felt then, entering the meadow, as if I was in the real world.
Most of the time though, I don’t feel in the real world except in seconds of time: the moon hung in the sky, the wind blowing around me, cold at night, a whiff of pinion smoke . . . My father took me out almost every weekend when I was little to look for fossils, for shards, and at the rocks. He was a geologist. My mother, an artist, took me out to see, to see the mountains, to see the mesas, to see the sky, to look up . . . at the clouds . . . I am still seeing. I am still listening to the quiet out there under the sky, the large sky. Sometimes when I am all bound up in human life, remembering the seeing, remembering the quiet, and the feeling that is really there, is enough to give me a drop of joy and a smile.
For all the years, I’ve been a mother and before, I have written and I have taught I still do. Here, at EcoHearth, I am write about the real world and my and your and our place in the world and so, I am naming my blog: My Ecology: Rambles Around About Our Place in the Real World. My blog will ask and attempt to answer this question — How do we nurture this place we are and how do we let this place, this real place, nurture us? Read me and please comment and we can learn together . . . yours, Amy
Anyway . . . check out EcoHearth and read some of the essays I published there, here at my compository.