Monthly Archives: January 2011

Communities forgotten – a new type of isolation

( TITLE – Communities forgotten – a new type of isolation )

This morning when I logged in to Facebook one of my friends had updated her status late last night with talk about her current excessive snow day conundrum. Apparently, having the kids at home is wearing on her business schedule and she was up late working.

The repeated beatings by snow in my area have given children many gleeful snow days – and some parents a real crimp in their lifestyle.

I don’t know the situation of the abovementioned friend in terms of help with taking of her kids. But it occurred to me that maybe some parents who are building careers and counting on their kids being in school for time to work may have been overlooking one of their greatest potential assets – others in their community.

These days, many people look to the Internet for a sense of community. Which is nice in a way but also kinda sad. For, no matter how many friends we have on Facebook or followers on Twitter or messages in our in-box, we need direct contact with other people to get us through the day-to-day realities.

The “independence” that we have in our lives, the ability to be and do anything we want – to seek our calling – has put a major crimp in one of our strongest assets – strength of community. And made it more difficult to make the most meaningful connections with other people.

I think strong communities come about when groups are isolated together in one way or another. When I was up in Maine last summer I asked someone if they grow a lot of their own food up there. She replied that they have to since nobody (food trucks) make it up there.

A seed needs its "neighbors" (the earth, sun, rain and air) to grow into a plant.

Spending time in the mountains in the western US has taught me that when you live in an area which is isolated and face things like lots of snow, people do come to depend on their neighbors. A lot.

And it is also just a matter of course to do things for oneself to take care of what we have. And people are happy to help one another. People live outwardly… People are happy.

In part, I think, this is because they go to areas like mountain communities because they want an easier and better quality of life.

The isolation in the wealthy me-centric areas, though, is totally different and makes it so there is scant time or desire to be a part of the world directly outside ones door and across the street.

I think this is due, in part, to the ways in which the societal disconnect has injured people…. <ellipses for pause> …. I read someplace that if we were not damaged we would not need healers, or one another.

I think that about says it all.

Into everyone’s life, a little snow must fall…

A way above average snowfall in my neck of the woods has made people slow down and – I hope – appreciate one of the greatest reflective devices around – freshly fallen snow.

Everything is so fresh and new from the snow. It gives you space and encouragement to think. And with each unique flake that falls from above we have the opportunity to marvel at the wonder of it all.

So, this is my second blog post in a row about snow. And I hope those readers in snowy climes are still taking some time out to embrace the beauty of their fresh, white wonderlands.

Yesterday, I went for a walk and put onto film (er, digital disk) some of the sights that touched me viscerally….

The wonder of shoveling snow

My trusty shovel ... there is no improving on perfection

Yesterday, right about dusk I pulled on my snow boots, slid into a big comfy hooded sweatshirt and slipped out of the garage – shovel in gloved hand – to clear the area around the garage bay doors.

It was wonderful.

The sky was a powder blue casting its hues on the gentleness of the  newly-fallen snow.  I stuck out my tongue to catch a sampling of the flaky, fluffy wetness descending from above.

It was magical.

The light from the garage soon became my only illumination as the sky turned dark.

Through the camouflage of my obstructed vision from the snow that had fallen on my glasses I saw a little mouse dart out of the garage and scamper to the dark of the backyard.

It was quiet.

The "come hither, snovel me" look a lone tire track makes in the freshly-fallen snow

In retrospect, I imagine many of my neighbors were tucked inside their homes watching television or filling their nights with the glow and crackle of a fire.

Out there in the middle of it all I wondered why people complain about shoveling snow.

How else am I to learn about the part of myself which is most alive when I am maneuvering around my slippery, snowy driveway as dusk turns to darkness?

And to hear the voice inside me which resounds most clearly when I am at still oneness with the wonder of winter?

It stretched me.

When I had finished and gone inside my arms were achy and I was really tired. It felt great.

And I took comfort in reaffirming that this is how winter is at its best for me.  Even when I was a little girl my brothers and I would exert and exhaust ourselves in the snow.

Illuminating the beauty of a snowy night

I would end those adventures wet and tired and smiling.

Just like last night.

And then I change into warm, dry clothes and have a hot drink. And it feels so good.

These winters as a grown-up, when I am moving snow around embodying the epitome of wet and exhilarated, I am grateful for being able to take some time to enjoy the wonder of shoveling snow.

And the freshness of the next day brings the newly created snow to light ... imagine the journey it took to get here