Plants

[aldersprig]

DialMforMara suggested that I blog about plants, and here I am.

Plants.
I bury my toes in loam-dark soil; 

I walk barefoot through the dirt my ancestors farmed. 
That is the part I easily remember of a poem I wrote in high school, when the assignment was roots.

Yeah, but it took me more

read on…

Comments

[sauergeek]

This attachment to place feels both odd and not odd, speaking as one who uprooted himself and moved 600 miles for college, but then mostly stayed put there. My parents were also uprooters, but not quite as enthusiastically so. They both lived ~70 miles from where they grew up. (That number is far more vague in my mom's case, who moved a lot growing up, though mostly in the same general area.)

I didn't know that one of my great-aunts still had that side's farm until my grandma died and her ashes were scattered there. (It's no longer a farm; it's overgrown. I have no idea what will happen to it when she goes.)

I like where I am now, but it's quite different from where I grew up. Both my parents can likely tell a similar story. Yet I am loath to leave where I am now — I tried twice, and came back both times — so perhaps I'm building roots of my own.

[aldersprig]

I find it interesting that I moved 2 hours to be almost exactly where I started out: in a farmhouse, in a field, (in a canyon, excavating for a mine…)

My parents live within 20 minutes of where they were born. Mom closer.

I don’t have ethnic roots. So I have land ones, I guess.