Connective tissue

Yesterday we left Door County and drove back south, speeding by the barns and fields under a gray and sullen sky. I kept shooting out the window, watching for those dips in the landscape when my camera would be able to see what my eyes have been drinking in for days.

But what I get, when I shoot -- well.. it's a bit like life. There are these brief moments of mindfulness, when the camera can actually see what is happening. But for the most part things are a blur -- especially the immediate surroundings, and it's only the stuff in the distance that has any clarity.

We were talking, a day or two ago, about the importance of taking the long view -- of trusting that the things that are a little uncomfortable right now will pay off in the long run. And we spoke also of how hard that is to do when you are young and everything seems so immediate and critical. Maybe that's part of the problem with this beautiful country of ours: we are still so young, and haven't begun to look beyond our own immediate needs, either to treasure the past or to build carefully for the future.

Hmm. I'm sounding a bit like an old lady -- I must have just had another birthday!

But it does make me sad, that in our rush to have the latest technology or the latest fashions or the coolest friends or the most popular ideas we forget that there is this deep connective serenity out there, the timeless slope of fields and farms that fuels much of our past and ties us all together to a common land. And in our deepening polarization -- are you a red state, or a blue? -- we forget that what we all share is this glorious sweep of green.