I’ve been thinking for a few days about what to name my blog. It’s challenging to think of a short expression that describes me and what I want to write about. I have come across some great blog names that I wish I’d thought of first: “A Drifter Off To See The World”, “Melissa Not Dusting”, and “A Freckle In Time”. What great blog names have you come across, or what would you name a blog about your life?
This blog is about the story of a change. My husband and I, rather spontaneously, are moving north, waayyyyyy north. To Yellowknife, which is on the 63rd parallel, just a rabbit hair below the Arctic circle. (Ok, its more like 400 km.) For us its a chance to deeply experience the north, – to paddle northern rivers, to be outside, to really see a place, to really hear it, to fully live it. To leave some things behind and perhaps add some things to our already great life as well. To live a simple and rich life.
After some false starts in the naming department, today I was reading Collected Poems by Wendell Berry, and there are several lines of poetry that say exactly what I intend. “Somehow It Has All Added Up To Song”, “Receiving The River’s Grace”, “I Come into the Peace of the Wild Things”, “Led By His Delight”, and “The Song I Live By”. These lines spoke to me because Mr. Berry’s poetry is something like the way I see the world – the need to answer the call of the wilderness. The importance of a good day’s work. Simplicity. Listening. Being. A preoccupation with the never forgotten dead. And through darkness how beauty can catch us in our tracks. How something as easy and simple as sweetness can be enough to sustain us. How being who we really are, our essence, can save us. This move is about us finding our essences and living them more fully.
Thank you Mr Berry for giving me the words.A Song Sparrow Singing in the Fall Somehow it has all added up to song- earth, air, rain and light, the labor and the heat, the mortality of the young. I will go free of other singing. I will go into the silence of my songs, to hear this song clearly. The Want of Peace All goes back to the earth, and so I do not desire pride of excess or power but the contentments made by men who have had little: the fisherman’s silence receiving the river’s grace, the gardener’s musing on rows. The Strait 4. Sitting among the bluebells in my sorrow, for lost time and the never forgotten dead, I saw a hummingbird stand in air to drink from flowers. It was a kiss he took and gave. At his lightness and he ardor of his throat, the song I live by stirred my mind. I said: “By sweetness alone it survives.”