The People I Know Now

The people I know now live in rural America. They aren’t who you think they are.

The people I know now think it self-evident that everyone’s water should be clean. It is obvious to them that everyone who needs medical attention should have access to it. They accept that mental balance and self esteem can be hard to come by, and those who will say the truth out loud are precious. They fight against the big foreign company stealing water at a bottling plant, and against the small fracking company that dumped chemicals on a road near their well. They have old cars, or none at all. They call the bus and wait. They are often between jobs, and always needing a higher-paying one. They seek dignity as they learn to live in the world after an addiction or time in prison. If they can, they grow their own food, and eat healthier than most in America. They don’t write a check for $50 or $100 easily, if at all. They don’t shop on-line as a hobby, and their clothes might be worn. The internet coverage out here is slow or non-existent. Few have big screen televisions and they still play their music off CD’s. I haven’t seen many new iPhones out here. 

The people I know now inspire me as they matter-of-factly go about daily challenges that cause me to whine about life’s unfairness. I think about the inner resilience my privilege has earned for me (or not). I compare them to the corporate ghosts I knew in my past life: executives living on chemical-cesspool golf courses, drinking their way through long trips away from home; sales people making piles of money but filled with self loathing; leaders wanting to win, more than wanting to do right. Everyone striving for bigger cars and more stuff. No one willing, or able, to name a principle they believed in, much less take a stand for it.

The people I know now read, draw, cook, sculpt, think, listen for the owls and the coyotes at night, and talk quietly among friends. They protest, march, and speak up. They take care of their land, their animals, and one another as the earth slips slowly from solstice to equinox.

I came to this rural life a cynic. The people I know now  are slowly turning me optimistic. 

Friends

Symbol of scales is made of stones on the cliff

I live in the country. In a really spectacular part of the country. The northern part of the lower Peninsula of Michigan. Land of glacial moraines and eons-old coral reefs that we call Petoskey stones when pieces wash up on shore. Stunning inland lakes and a few great lakes that are really unbelievable the first time a visitor sees them. We are a mile from the Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes National Seashore, and lots of bicycling trails established just for us to get out and enjoy all the flora and fauna found here.

The thing is, I don’t know too much about all this nature. But I have a friend who does.

My friend can name every bird song in this part of the world, and explain why that singing was so loud last month and has become subdued this month. She helped us track an otter through the snow last winter, all the way back to his home lake. She knows about the trees, and the bees, and the bears. I’ll never get lost in the woods with her because she carries a compass and a topographical map, and she knows how to use them.

I cannot recommend a friend like this highly enough!