Tue 11 Dec 2007
whose woods are these
Posted by bon under coping stuff
[32] Comments
i had to drive today, for work, an hour westward and back in the sparkling cold of a sunny December morning.
i forget that i live on a beautiful piece of earth. i live my life these days between my house and the sitter’s house and the campus i work on, with occasional forays to the grocery store and other such exotica. i stay within the city bounds, quaint little slush-bound urbanite that i like to imagine myself, and forget that on a crisp winter morning there are snow-covered fields only twenty minutes away, and stands of pine with pillows of white blown onto them, rail fences breaking the winter sweep of rolling hills into perfect, shining patchwork.
i forget that i live in a frigging Christmas card.
the change of scenery made me draw my breath in, hard, and open up my eyes despite the glare from the snow.
i have been antsy the past few days, unsettled at my core in a way i haven’t felt in years, the familiar ache of wanderlust and anywhere but here washing over me, taking me out at the knees. i sat at work yesterday afternoon, the mail server down and thus me temporarily semi-incapacitated, and langourously browsed the facebook photos of friends in other places, full of longing for elsewhere, for the other lives that i could be living right now. that longing was once my status quo but it scared the living shit out of me to find it again, just under my breastbone, alive and well, singing its siren song of discontent and disdain and pain that can be outrun.
and yet it was freeing, like a fleeting full circle, to find the ghost of that longing, too. because it was once so much a part of who i was that i thought it would never stop dogging me, that it was as much a part of me as my scars, my tattoo, my laugh. maybe it is, in the sense that it seems to be my default setting. but i have moved beyond it, since i chose this place to come back to almost three years ago, this pretty, secretive, insular place i finally accepted as my home. i learned, years after i left and tramped around forever looking for the Place that would Make Me Happy, that discontent can find you anywhere and every place is worthy of its own special brand of disdain, and most important, pain can never be outdistanced… but can be survived, if one abides. i have not tried to run away in a long, long time. i had forgotten, almost, what it felt like to be in constant readiness for flight…and i didn’t enjoy the reminder, though it brought its own adrenalin to the party, and that was kinda fun, for a minute. it is not elsewhere i was seeking, really….not all those years, not yesterday.
i am learning, always anew, that it is that sense of coming through the other side that i am longing for.
so i abide, tempting though it may be in moments of December slush and the crush of seasonal ridiculousness to run off to Thailand and start a whole new career as a lounge singer.
i am lying fallow, these days, like the land beneath the snow in those fields. i move towards the darkest evening of the year and watch the woods fill up with snow, and am quiet and still, abiding.
but not oblivious to the beauty, even of this place that is not elsewhere and this sadness i cannot yet escape.




December 12th, 2007 at 3:01 am
A goodly chunk of the world wants to live where you live simply because of a sentimental book. At yet, those of us who live in the vicinity know the double-edgedness to finding Heart’s Content down Lover’s Walk at the edge of the Primrose Path.
December 12th, 2007 at 3:03 am
One more thing. Thor and I had a quick email exchange following the post about my Mom. I told her that after my Mom died I could feel roots growing from my feet seeking to plant me firmly to a place, any place, as long as I was with the people that mattered. That’s how I found myself here. The roots feel a bit bound at times but, all in all, I am content with the fertile soil they found.
December 12th, 2007 at 3:05 am
Look at you getting excited about 3 comments only to discover they’re all from me. I just wanted to add that the Frost poem was my mother’s favourite. As such, it was the first bit of non-Bible verse I ever conned. (Do people use the verb “con” any more or am I just too stuck in Shakespeare’s language?)
December 12th, 2007 at 3:07 am
One of the best books we ever got as a gift for L. before he was born was an illustrated children’s version of that poem. I still have it–I still so much love it.
And I envy you your snowy neck of the woods…
December 12th, 2007 at 3:56 am
this is so beautiful and whispered echoes of my own thoughts, here and there … and reminds me that just 20 minutes away or a 5 minute walk into the river valley and i too can find fields of snowy storybooks quietly contemplating silence and maybe i should put on my boots this weekend and go for a good long walk … a good long thought. thank you.
December 12th, 2007 at 5:19 am
Oh, love. This is woven in such an intricate way. This hold on your heart will be replaced with something less like twilight and more like dawn.
December 12th, 2007 at 6:29 am
Beautiful.
Then insightfully poignantly true.
Then hopeful with wishful.
Outstanding post. Thank you.
Julie
Using My Words
December 12th, 2007 at 9:35 am
Gorgeous. The woods, your words. With your words, I am next to you in the car, swift intake of breath as we recognize the beauty, and then collapsing in giggles as you make your comment about the Christmas card.
So real.
And yet I hear the discontent retreating as quickly as it arrived, for your words are rich with understanding and maturity. It’s true. You can’t outrun pain, and moving only makes things exciting (and messy) for a time. The roots make things real, and give us the opportunity to know people in ways that we didn’t when we moved all the time. At least, it was that way for me.
Wishing you peace, and a few more glimpses of that Christmas card, if you want it, from time to time.
December 12th, 2007 at 10:42 am
sometimes the surrounding country is just the escape you need.
December 12th, 2007 at 11:59 am
I love that something as isolating as sitting alone at my computer before dawn can give a glimpse into another human being’s soul, and that I can find there the words describing a familiar feeling. To know somewhere out in the vastness are other people who feel the pull. And also those who abide. Because the discontent, and the content, find you everywhere.
December 12th, 2007 at 1:57 pm
I’m feeling a bit too intimidated to comment much – first your post, which was beautiful as always, and then the other comments, my goodness! My own brand of “but I write the way I talk” just can’t hold up. Suffice it to say, this touched me as so many of your posts do. I too have browsed through Facebook and felt a pulling for some of the carefree, exotic lives I see. It seems like always at those times I get a reminder of why I’ve chosen this life instead – like living in a friggin’ Christmas card, indeed.
December 12th, 2007 at 3:08 pm
Oh, Bon. I am in the same place – only I was running away to India…
Got tickets? Heh.
December 12th, 2007 at 3:42 pm
Bon,
Beautiful post. Just beautiful. I relate to so much of what you said – but I still don’t feel I’ve settled anywhere.
And, just so you know – I don’t comment much, but if you did run to Thailand and become a lounge singer, I would SO come for a visit just to hear you sing….’cause that’s how much I like you :)
December 12th, 2007 at 3:52 pm
Beautiful and vivid.
I have to say that I found my place of land those many years ago when I came here for college, and as I put down more and more roots– friends, family… I get more and more attached. But even I felt that thing rising in you, and I think I get it.
It takes strength to make oneself abide with oneself, in these hard days of darkness and discontent. I wish you better days, to come soon, but not rushed, to arrive in their own organic way. Peace to you and yours.
December 12th, 2007 at 3:53 pm
I’ve got wanderlust big time. And I think I might just do it this time!
And it is truly beautiful where you are. Maybe I’ll run away there?
December 12th, 2007 at 4:58 pm
sounds like advent woods to me
abiding is the perfect word
December 12th, 2007 at 6:18 pm
“it is that sense of coming through the other side that i am longing for.”
Incredible, your ability to put words to feelings and half-formed thoughts of mine.
Those few times I have come through, it has sustained me a long time.
December 12th, 2007 at 6:37 pm
One of the most powerful things I’ve read recently – and I can’t for the life of me think of what it was called – was an essay by Wendell Berry on the theology of staying in place. It was pretty amazing. But I’ve never had wanderlust, ever.
December 12th, 2007 at 8:26 pm
Wanderlust — it can be achingly lovely and so frightening. I know it well.
December 13th, 2007 at 4:31 am
I hate that you are sad right now. It is not the way it was supposed to be, dammit!
December 13th, 2007 at 5:48 am
This is a very very true post. So beautiful and so well written.
December 13th, 2007 at 4:06 pm
I still haven’t found the place that makes me happy. I fear I never will. Unlike Mad, my roots are hesitant and crabby.
The last time I was in your neck of the woods, I felt this insane urge to become an organic farmer there. Then I remembered winter.
It’s bad enough on this side of the straight….
Part of me is always wanting to run, to dance off into the sunset. She’s a strange girl…
December 13th, 2007 at 5:49 pm
You’re right, Bon, at how very small and bounded this stage of life can be, and how surprising 20 minutes away can feel. Yeesh. I’m driving to TO tonight for a movie-thing, and it feels so exotic. But yes, scary as the desire for change can be, it is in fact very comforting to find that who-you-were-before hasn’t flown the coop entirely, that you remain, in that way, wholly who you are.
Best wishes …
December 13th, 2007 at 10:43 pm
I love drives alone like that, where you can clear your mind and focus on your actual surroundings.
December 14th, 2007 at 12:03 am
Mmmm.
This is achingly lovely, Bon.
December 14th, 2007 at 12:44 am
“i am lying fallow, these days, like the land beneath the snow in those fields. i move towards the darkest evening of the year and watch the woods fill up with snow, and am quiet and still, abiding.”
This moved me, Bon. Your writing is amazing.
December 14th, 2007 at 2:13 am
Bon, you really socked me in the gut with this one. Your imagery is perfect. I love that Robert Frost poem. It was actually the first poem I ever decided to commit to memory. I’m going to have it in my head all evening now. “Whose woods these are, I think I know.”
December 14th, 2007 at 12:48 pm
every single thing you write strikes such a cord with me, bon. seriously.
i could right a whole post on this, but take it from me: I know.
I know.
December 14th, 2007 at 10:30 pm
Hi there. This is my first time here, and I love your writing. Is Finn’s story anywhere on your blog? I’d love to read it (having just given birth to a stillborn child five weeks ago).
Thank you for this blog.
December 14th, 2007 at 10:39 pm
What’s the opposite of wanderlust? ‘Cause that’s what I have a bad case of.
How much better to be you, to want always to be wholly elsewhere, to imagine happiness could be unearthed, reclaimed, if you only knew where to look. It’s a blessing, though, like most blessings, the recipients most likely see it as something else.
December 15th, 2007 at 7:43 pm
I would, in a heartbeat, take off for the other side of the world, to start fresh and meet people who didn’t look at me with a mixture of sadness and relief, if for one second I thought I could be free of the tombstone chained to my soul.
Peace during this season my friend.
December 16th, 2007 at 4:11 pm
I don’t have wanderlust, I never had, although I admire it so in others…but the idea of trying to outrun pain, that I understand. I am sorry there is pain enough to kick in that instinct.
Thank you so for visiting my friend Katie.