10 Acres

"In the prime of his life, when he worked ten or twelve hours every weekday and socialized all weekend, he had pretty much ignored his land." - John Updike

I am away this evening, sitting in a nicely furnished room on the campus of Wabash University. It is lovely and everything is in order, which is not how my true home is at this time of evening. It is just after supper time for Anna and the kids, and I have called to connect in some loose fashion to the events of our their day - listening to the questions of Wyatt and the monosyllabic responses of Elise. We had to break up our conversation so Anna could restore order.

It is not so much that I am ignoring my land or my family. Anna is well in support of my participation of this particular experience and my call in general. She understands that my vocational identity is pastoral in the spiritual sense, not just the agrarian sense, and that there are times when I am led away from home.

At the same time, I - after having read that above quote from Updike in a short story about a retired man who came to walk and know his home parcel - am also aware that one of my ongoing desires is to get to know intimately the 10.99 acres of land that we have been gifted with ... and to begin to attach my own story to its history. That desire, unfortunately, too often gets filed under the "hope," rather than the "urgent" or "seemingly important." Meanwhile, it is those later two categories where I find myself expending my energy.

Anna just asked me if 49 tomato plants are going to be too much this year. I have no idea. It sounds overwhelming. It sounds ridiculous. But, I guess there is only one way to find out: plant and nurture 49 tomato plants and discover how much is too much and how much we can can and how much we can give away.

I am deeply thankful that - even despite my ongoing hiccups, hesitations, and excuses - my wife is tying us to the land of our home. I am thankful that she - before I - had the foresight to see that what is most needed is a place to call home and a home to know so that I might learn to be in community in a way that is authentic.

I hope it does not take me, like Updike's reflective retiree, all my life to finally walk my land and to live into my place.

Wes