| To Be of Use - by Marge Piercy |
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| Tuesday, 09 December 2008 00:00 |
When I first heard someone read this Marge Piercy poem in a college class, my life was so different from what it is now. Then, I was not even 20, I had weathered some things in life my peers had not. I had no idea how much more life would throw at me, good and bad. Of all the privileges I've enjoyed, I knew even then, that one I value most is my love for work. Whatever shape it takes, my capacity for work and my stamina are wonderful and often startling to others around me. Idle time makes me crazy. I'm simply hard-wired for work and lots of it. I've been thinking about Arie McFarlen's farm. Maveric Heritage Ranch, almost completely devastated by fire just days before Thanksgiving. I've been sitting uneasily with my eagerness to go there, DO Something, with my desire to help. I've been balancing this sense of urgency against the desire to wait for the time when my help will be the most useful. Today or last night, this poem popped into my head and I found it again. What strikes me is how relevant it is to me now almost 30 years later (I counted twice, it's really been that long.) There is something so true and clear about these words, their effect on me is the same now as it was when I was younger. It's as if a huge bell, an ancient temple bell, has been rung and the peal of that bell sings at my core. One of my proudest moments ever came after a day of back-breaking work with a farmer. He was the grandfather of a friend and indulged this city girl's desire to come "visit the farm and help out." I'm not sure he really intended to have me work with him, but after some insistence on my part, he offered that there was one project he could use some help with. A pond way behind his house had nearly dried up. He was sure the pipe feeding it from a nearby spring had gotten crushed or misaligned. We spent the day, he and I, digging up pipe, finding broken sections, and re-laying the pipe that fed the pond. It was immensely gratifying to see the water begin to trickle out and begin to refill the pond. At the end of the day this old man, now long gone, looked at me and said "You'd make a good farmer's wife." I beamed. Those were practically the only words spoken all day. I was dirty and exhausted and as happy as I've ever been. So, for the moment, I wait. Arie will tell me when the time is right and I can be of use to her. To be of use The people I love the best jump into work head first without dallying in the shallows and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight. They seem to become natives of that element, the black sleek heads of seals bouncing like half submerged balls. I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart, who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience, who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward, who do what has to be done, again and again. I want to be with people who submerge in the task, who go into the fields to harvest and work in a row and pass the bags along, who stand in the line and haul in their places, who are not parlor generals and field deserters but move in a common rhythm when the food must come in or the fire be put out. The work of the world is common as mud. Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust. But the thing worth doing well done has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident. Greek amphoras for wine or oil, Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums but you know they were made to be used. The pitcher cries for water to carry and a person for work that is real. To learn more about what's going at Maveric Heritage Ranch, see this blog which Arie is updating. Donation information is available there, too.
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written by Curly Bill , December 09, 2008
So easily we lose our connections to the world. Somehow a treadmill does what was once achieved by the chore of daily life. Humans worked with the earth, then played with the earth. Every day washing the very substance of life from hands before sitting at a table. When grace was said and thanks given, all knew the labor of the meal, the very struggle for life. And, I think, better because of it.
Thank you for sharing
written by Curly Bill , December 09, 2008
It is such a treat to read of others who partake in the same struggle, and feel a bursting pride when covered in dirt. Wild Idea Buffalo is doing much the same, and the author who tends to that ranch resonates deeply with the thoughts expressed above. There is a feeling of value, contribution and honesty that comes in carving out a simple and beautiful existence on this wild earth. Thank you for sharing.
Curly Bill
written by Jacqueline , December 09, 2008
Thank you for stopping by. I love my city life but sometimes feel the need to get "out there" to remember raw, natural beauty rather than constructed beauty. Like taking lungfuls of deep breaths in winter that cold, clear feeling can feel in moments like the first breath you've taken in a while.
Phew, it's getting to be that time for me, it's flirting with me and stoking the embers of longing...didn't see that sneaking up! |
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