Fluff and Complaining

My walks have gotten increasingly chilly and require more layers. I find this fact to be parallel to much of what is occurring in nature at the current time. While the trees are shedding their leaves animals all around are beginning to put on their winter “fluff”. While I don a sweater and a fleece, they bulk up on fur and eat a few extra nuts and berries to get ready for the harsh New England winter. As I plod along the leaf-covered trail, however, I begin to get a little warm. Luckily, I am able to unzip a layer or two to feel more comfortable. What, pray tell, do the chipmunks, squirrels, and other critters do when they get too warm? They can’t shed their fur in a moments’ notice, for they will need it later. (Perhaps later that day according to New England weather patterns). What would I do if I had to be stuck in a coating of heat trapping substance? I’d probably just sit around waiting to get cold. That theory probably doesn’t work for animals. Especially ones that are likely to get eaten. In lieu of this option, I would probably complain. I would complain a lot. Now, I know that wouldn’t make me any cooler or comfortable but I suppose in my mind, it would help a little.

Thinking to Wendell Berry’s Home Economics, I am reminded of the “Irish Journal”. On page 32 Berry is speaking with a couple of ladies in Suffolk. He notes that the “neighbor had been to America, where, she said, a lot of young people go and do not come back. She said that. During the first part of her three-week visit to Chicago, she had wondered why anyone lived anywhere but America. But then she had begun to be bothered by the noise and the crush of people and development and had wanted to get home to Ireland”. This passage spoke to me on various levels. The first being the “vacation” level. I love going on vacations. While I live in Vermont, my family has a camp in Maine, and we also go camping in Maine and Vermont quite often. I suppose there’s little I love more than pulling a sleeping bag out of the closet and heading out into the woods and sleeping under the stars. I love vacations that aren’t necessarily nature oriented as well. I enjoy doing things that are out of the norm. The only thing about vacations is that after a week, or however long you are gone, there is nothing better than the moment you come within view of your own house, you take a shower in your own bathroom, and you slip between the sheets of your own bed. Why is it that we put such a perfect view on that which we don’t have, in order to come back home and be relieved to be back in our tiny little bubble? I suppose that we become so accustomed to what surrounds us that it is uncomfortable to go into a place that seems to belong to another person, state, or country. Do we get attached to our own slice of nature where there is less noise, fewer people, and less development? Yet in the same vein, what about people who leave their homeland? My grandmother left Ireland for America when she was a small girl. Essentially running away, she hopped on a boat and ended up in America. She made a conscious decision to leave her homeland and begin life anew. At the time, she had the same view as everyone else: America is the place to be. Today, however, all she does is complain. Healthcare, manners, taxes, the shape of the cars, color of the grass, street names, you name it, she complains about this. I can’t be sure if this is due to old age or if she is just really disgruntled with American society. Can you really be that way if you chose to come here? If I were to consciously go out into the woods for an extended amount of time, I would tell myself not to complain. If it’s not going to help, and you chose to be there, what’s the use? Probably none at all.