Chris and our dog, Faye, left yesterday
afternoon. My sister and brother-in-law, the day before. Taking a headcount,
only one remains—that would be me. But I’m leaving tomorrow to return to life
as I know it back on the farm. Today, though, I will see to it that the place
where I have been blessed to be for the last 18 days (19 counting tomorrow) is
as clean as we found it when we first opened the door.
A few times, I thought of that man in
the PBS special, Alone in the Wilderness.
His name was Richard Proenneke. With his own hands, he made tools, built a
cabin, caught fish, grew vegetables, and hiked through the wilderness in all
kinds of weather and conditions. He lived among the bears, the wolves, mountain
goats, and critters too numerous to mention. I’ve wondered why he did it and
wondered what he thought about while he was alone.
When you’re alone, your mind is free to
think about anything you choose, depending on what mood you’re in. Richard
Proenneke filmed his adventures with a 16mm movie camera, which is narrated to
give a sense of his ongoing train of thought. But what were his off-camera
thoughts? I’ve wondered that while I’ve been on this personal retreat. My guess
is, though, that he had such a proactive spirit, that he spent most of his time
enjoying the moment and thinking with joy of his next project rather than going
into a state of deep reflection or worrying about tomorrow or reviewing his
past or contemplating the state of the world.
I thought of him, not because I, in any
sense, compare my adventures in the Poconos to his in the great Northwest, but
because he represents something of a spirit that in the present age in which we
live is not only admirable, but is worthy of, at least to some extent,
adopting. There’s so much tension, anxiety, distrust, and fear for tomorrow
that the value of today and the people of our lives are lost in the wilderness
of our emotions.
In the play, Our Town, Emily is a young woman who has died, but is given the
opportunity to go back and relive one of the days of her life. She chooses the
day of her twelfth birthday. But when she experiences it, she is upset by the
fact that everyone in her household is so busy that they pay very little
attention to one another or to her presence and the celebration of her
birthday. In exasperation, she cries out, “Doesn’t anyone realize their life
while they live it?”
That’s the thing I hope for all of us in the
present age: To realize life while we live it—not to be swept along in the
swift current that carries us past the present gift of the moment, which is the
only moment we have. That’s where joy lives and beauty abounds. “May God bless
us, everyone!” (Tiny Tim, A Christmas
Carol)