VAGOSCRIBE, n. (spanglish) travel writer

the leaves have fallen
the corn has been gathered
winter is over the horizon

the barn, the silo, the crib
holders of the investment
more likely not the profit

            *************

boots by the lounge chair
family farmer is sleeping
tired from the toil and labor

it is a tired-ness he welcomes though–
different than the tired-ness of working
     the other punch-the-clock, full-time job
     he works to pay the bills
different than the tired-ness of dealing
     with the vision-less developer
     calling weekly
different than the tired-ness of tacitly 
     fighting a future that is designed
     to extinct him–
the tired-ness from working the fields is
welcomed because it is honest

          **********

driving through bucolicy
a gentle wave of hello
sun shines over barren fields

i am warmed wholely
soon to be overtaken by
sadness and melancholy

and then, by anger

            **********

“save the farms,” say the city folk,
     say the academics, say the politicos
why do we not hear, “save the family farmer”
why do we not hear, “save the family farming
     way of life”
why do we not hear, “save agrarian culture”
why do we not hear, “current agriculture policy
     is not agri-cultural at all”
 
what good is the “saved” farm
     without the farmer
who will be here to nurture
     the “saved” farmland
how will the “saved” farmland
     be farmed

will it be cared for intimately
will it be walked with careful steps
will it be planted with good intention
will it be harvested and sold locally
 
         **********

seems too big to stop
“the way things are”
if only i had millions
but don’t, so be active

buy local, buy sustainable,
buy organic, buy from
farmer’s markets

“it costs more”
not always, and hey
“there is always a
price to pay”
a price for losing
a price for winning

the dollar speaks
the dollar speaks
the dollar speaks

what will you make it say

(written 16 November 2003)

“I can remember…do you remember…way back when…” seems to be a common conversational piece shared by members of the same generation for every generation that has passed since the notion of “the good old days” came into conscious.  Coincidentally, or perhaps not, this is probably somewhere around the time that humankind recognized our fear of our own mortality.

What follows is a twist on “the good old days.” Picture our children a half decade or so from now sitting in their favorite place.  Instead of nostalgia being the mood, the air is fat with simple dumbfoundedness.  Their conversation begins with “I can remember…do you remember…way back when…”
  
                   ***************

…the “first world” watched with much-needed drugs in hand while Africa was devastated by AIDS.
…human beings were denied access to health care because they were U.S. citizens without insurance.
…the U.S. Government was able to find $87 billion to “rebuild” a nation it destroyed, but was not able to find any extra cash to buy textbooks for every student over which it governed.
…teachers were viewed as incompetent by parents because their child was failing class, despite the parent(s) not being home to assist the child with his/her studies because the parent(s) was stuck in commuter traffic chasing the American dream of rich, richer, richest.
…people used the U.S. Constitution to defend their right to own a gun that could fire multiple rounds in seconds.
…flying the Confederate flag was actually considered OK, cool, or worse, rebellious.
…pre-fabricated, cookie-cutter homes dotting the land was called “development.”
…people ordered “Freedom Fries” and “Freedom Toast.”
…there was not sufficient funding for optimal management of public libraries.

                   ***************

“Can you believe…what were they thinking…how could…how did those things happen…”  Still in the future, our children are confused in their knowledge of our generation.  Will they be able to see through that confusion?  Will they be able to learn from it, gaining the know-how to act and react to make just decisions in their lifetime?

(I concede I am an idealist.  How else could I allow for a future generation to look back on today’s events and not understand how they ever came to be?  There is an assumption that they would not act like us.  Of course, I am also assuming that these current events are not going to be manifested as something else in the future.  But, an Everest-like learning curve is not insurmountable.)   
                   ***************

The “way back when” is now.  The scenarios provided are real, and are occurring now.  They are few, only a mere sampling of the inequity that permeates our world.  While some may want to dismiss them as “being the way things are” or “how the world works,” I challenge you to not be satisfied with such an easy solution.  How things were is not how they are, nor are they how things will be.  What part do you want to play in the cylce of change?  Satisfied bystander with belly full?  Frontliner with hungry heart?  Confused image in your child’s eye?  Hero to your child? 

Whether or not “can you believe” will be the voice of tomorrow’s child is completely dependent on us.  We are responsible for our actions. We are responsible for our families.  We are responsible for our elected leaders.  We are responsible for the food we eat.  We are responsible for the water we drink.  We are responsible for the air we breathe.  We are responsible for the jobs we do.

We are NOT responsible FOR each other, however.  No, we are responsible TO each other.  Understand that, understand change.

(written 9 October 2003)

Two years of graduate school and a life in the city, and here I am found in the comfort of home.  It is good to be in my native place.  Sites are familiar and have meaning.  People’s faces are not those of strangers.  Smells on the air find their way to my bones.

When my wife and I made the decision to return to the place of our birth, friends and family were surprised and cautiously happy.  For us, we were feeling the tuggings of what we now understand as the need for belonging, community, and love.

                   ***************

We are driving on our country roads, meandering a paved path through corn, wheat, and cut hay.  An overnight on the AT in Michaux State Forest is our plan.  The humidity is low, the sun is high.  We see honest men working in the fields.  We damn federal government policies that directly cause and allow the demise of the family farmer, the small landowner central to Jefferson’s vision of a democratic republic.  How much longer before the landscape that resonates in our souls changes to something else?  What does it matter when the new landscape will likely resound in another’s soul? Is one resonance more valuable than the other?  Despite these disconcerting questions, we manage to smile.  Life’s poetry occurring around us has found our hearts.

The roads continue north and west through the orchards.  Hills filled with apple and peach trees roll gently to the forested slopes of our destination.  Again, we see honest men working.  They are brown-skinned and not in their native land, here to do a job that would otherwise go undone.  I hope they feel welcomed in my homeland.

Over the ridge, into the parking area, a quick check of gear, and we are now standing at the trailhead.  Packs on our backs, dirt beneath our feet, and miles of walking ahead of us are welcomed by us.  Could home be more than a place?  Could home be a journey?  Is home truly where the heart is?  If so, why does land seem to have such a profound impact on us?  Surely, we can read the opinions of the world’s great philosophers to gain insight into such queries.  But we would rather make sense of it on our own.

                   ***************

We all want to feel welcomed wherever it is that we are, or wherever it is that we are going.  When we go to another’s house, the most enjoyable times are those when the hosts are warm and receptive, when they are gracious and honored to have you in their home.  Soon, we are not looking at the clock, nor are we wishing to leave.  We are communing with our fellow beings.

There really is not much else to it.  If and when we are able to find our way home, we should then extend ourselves to others along the path while they are journeying homeward.  A listening ear, a simple hello, an offering of food, heartfelt advice, and other gestures demonstrating our homage for one another would allow us to always feel at home.

If we allow for it, the adage “Home is where the heart is” can take on a fuller meaning by asking ourselves, do I offer my heart to others to make them feel at home?  It is not only about our own sense of belonging.  It is everything about ensuring that we all feel belonged no matter the locale.

When we feel deeply, the emotion sometimes becomes associated with the landscape we are in.  When we return to the land where we felt deeply, the memory returns.  In the memory we feel again.  If the feeling is one of love, brought about by experiencing welcome-ness and belonging, the heart is nourished.  Again, we are home.

(written 26 October 2003)

Does the sky heaven seem as believable to you now as it did when you were a child?

Is a “crazy” man on the street more free than you and I?

Why do birdsongs–if we take the time to listen to them–have the ability to “lift” us?

When a mother sheds tears of joy for her children, is it just a biophysical reaction?

How is it that a field of corn can look so incredibly natural?

When a leaf changes color, does it change you?

Does watermelon juice on your chin satisfy you?

Why do we care about outer space and not our inner space?

Does a full moon excite you, or does it humble you?

If we were all brothers and sisters, wouldn’t we love each other despite that we may hate certain things about each other?

Does an African child’s death send reverberations across the ocean?

Why do we entomb and fill our bodies with chemicals so that we cannot return to dust?

When the frogs are silenced, is it a precursor to our coming silence?

Why do we allow ourselves to believe that wind exists if we cannot see it, though we can feel it…but we doubt that LOVE exists?

What precisely is the magic of music?

Are smiles a way for souls to argue for their existence?

What if we viewed sunsets as being the beginning of night instead of being the end of the day?

Do sunflowers make you smile?

When you walk in the woods, does it make “job” sound empty?

When you drive by a natural body of water, does your adrenaline flow because you are thinking about how great it would be to jump in?

Is a trailhead your path to home?

Why is a seeing a shooting star an occurence that stops  us in our tracks?

Does the image of snow on a pine bough provide you a feeling of warmth?

When an infant laughs, why do we innately begin to make irrecognizable sounds to her or him?

Do you measure time in years or life happenings?

Can a person who never receives love be able to give love?

Why is a rainy day an ugly day and a sunny day a beautiful day?

When you go to bed at night, do you stop to think that
you might not see the morning sunrise?

Does a sunrise make you give thanks?

(written 2 September 2001)

We wanted to snorkel with sea lions.  This was one of the reasons we journeyed south through Baja.

On Monday morning we boarded the boat with other snorkelers and kayakers, heading for Isla del Carmen in hopes of sighting the sea lions.

About fifteen minutes into the overcast morning, we were greeted by a pod of porpoises.  They darted through the water a little over fifty feet away. Some passed under the boat and resurfaced on the other side. 

We took our mammal friends’ greeting as a sign of good fortune. 

Soon we were dropping the kayakers off on a spit of sandy beach caressed by lapping turquoise and green water. 

On our way again, we rounded a rocky point while waving to local fisherman.  They waved back and cast big smiles to us along with their nets to the sea.

And there they were.  Four to six sea lions barked as we approached their rock porch by the sea.  They waddled and tossed their heads back and forth.  Quickly, they floundered into the water.

Except for one.

We fixed our masks, snorkels and fins as rapidly as we could, hoping to see the last one under water.

We jumped in.  So did the sea lion.  In a matter of seconds she swam by in simple grace and beauty.  She moved with elegance towards the dark abyss, uninterested in us and our selfish pursuit of witnessing a wild sea lion in the water.

Despite a little disappointment, we continued snorkeling in the sixty-eight degree Sea of Cortez water.  We saw three kinds of star fishes and multitudes of fish. 

Chilled to the bones and satisfied with what we saw, we boarded the boat and waited for the others.

The sun was warm.  The sky was clear blue. It was a perfect combination for a nice sunburn.

After a while, the porpoises returned.  They swam around the point and put on an acrobatic show.  Jumping through the air and darting at surface level, we witnessed another of nature’s wonderful spectacles.

Yet we were not done.

As we were finishing up the day, our guide spotted a spout of water shooting into the sky along the distant horizon. 

Whale!

We spotted a fin back whale still wintering in the warm waters.  And then another spout appeared behind the first one.  We saw two fin back whales!!!

A great day it was.  But I still wanted to do one more thing.

Our guide pulled the boat up next to a rocky cliff and said that it was safe to jump from above.

I jumped into the water and swam over to the cliff.  I scrambled my way up the sharp precipice and scouted a perch amongst the dive-bombing sea gulls.

With my right foot planted firmly and my left only partially, I dove into the water below…once again understanding “flow”.

(written 13 May 2001)