Home for the holidays

All too often we fail to appreciate the beauty of where we live. Today we were in St. Croix Falls, getting our Christmas cards from the St. Croix River Association. The main road through town had "Season's Greetings" banners at each end and the lamp posts are decorated with garlands and wreaths. As we passed through Taylors Falls, back on the Minnesota side of the river, we noted that their holiday decorations were obvious as well. (Neither North Branch nor Cambridge, each of which is larger and more commercial, offered the welcoming ambiance of the smaller cities. Something we keep losing as we push the "bigger is better" theme.)

The St. Croix Falls float in the Taylors Falls holiday parade

Photo by J. Harrington

As we ponder what we've lost to progress, we can read a recent essay by Dr. Robin Wall Kimmerer. Littler Toller Books publishes an online journal, THE CLEARING, that "offers writers and artists a dedicated space in which to explore and celebrate the landscapes we live in." That's where we found Tallgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. We heartily recommend it. After our first read through, we were embarrassed (again) by how few of the prairie plants on our own small acreage we're able to identify. We did brighten up as we realized that we do know about two separate bison herds that pasture within 50 miles or so of our home. Learning one's home range takes more time than we're ready to admit. Plus, much of what we learned last month may change next.

one of the nearby bison herds lives at Eichten's

Photo by J. Harrington

All of the preceding feeds into our continuing contemplations about where we feel we fit into our own home range and how we would know. As we drove about on today's errands, it occurred to us that a satisfactory answer may require an adjustment in our perspectives. Those who are skilled at improvisation are noted for their "Yes, and" approach. We're wondering if that becomes how to integrate our "homes" in New England and in Minnesota. Each contributes to a very large part of who we are. It's not being disloyal to New England to appreciate what we care about in Minnesota, nor vice versa. We'll work some more on our own "Yes, and" efforts and see where that gets us.

Yes

By Debora Greger

Yes, your childhood now a legend of fountains
                                                         —jorge gullén

Yes, your childhood, now a legend

gone to weeds, still remembers the gray road

that set out to cross the desert of the future.

And how, always just ahead,

gray water glittered, happy to be just a mirage.

Who steps off the gray bus at the depot?

Sidewalks shudder all the way home.

Blinds close their scratchy eyes.

Who settles in your old room?

Sniffy air sprawls as if it owns the place,

and now your teenage secrets have no one to tell.

For the spider laying claim to the corner,

there is a stickiness to spin, that the living may beg

to be wrapped in silk and devoured,

leaving not even the flinch from memory.

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