We camped in the garden last night, the earth firm beneath our backs, the breeze enveloping us with scents of lavender and rosemary, mint and oregano. First we heard people on a distant deck, a laugh or two, a lone dog barking, a cat, a wayward car alarm and finally, quiet, peace, silence, broken suddenly and exhuberantly by a veritable symphony of bird song and the slow spreading of morning's fingers across the sky.
I thought of the Ingalls family from Little House on the Prairie. Of famous 20th-century homesteaders Helen and Scott Nearing. Of refugees in tents who somehow manage to save a seed or two and start a garden in the midst of despair, and nomads who move their tents or yurts with the seasons so their animals can continue to graze. I though of them all lying under the same sky and hearing a bird symphony of their own and knowing the land they slept on was the very land that would nourish them. And although my coffee pot was only yards away, and here I am already publishing this post using modern technology, I felt, through my simple gesture of sleeping under the stars in the garden that sustains me, somehow connected to this endless stream of humanity.
We camped in the garden last night, the earth firm beneath our backs, the breeze enveloping us with scents of lavender and rosemary, mint and oregano. First we heard people on a distant deck, a laugh or two, a lone dog barking, a cat, a wayward car alarm and finally, quiet, peace, silence, broken suddenly and exhuberantly by a veritable symphony of bird song and the slow spreading of morning's fingers across the sky.
I thought of the Ingalls family from Little House on the Prairie. Of famous 20th-century homesteaders Helen and Scott Nearing. Of refugees in tents who somehow manage to save a seed or two and start a garden in the midst of despair, and nomads who move their tents or yurts with the seasons so their animals can continue to graze. I though of them all lying under the same sky and hearing a bird symphony of their own and knowing the land they slept on was the very land that would nourish them. And although my coffee pot was only yards away, and here I am already publishing this post using modern technology, I felt, through my simple gesture of sleeping under the stars in the garden that sustains me, somehow connected to this endless stream of humanity.