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June 21, 2016

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Home » Opinion » Foreign Views

Letter: farm adventure inspires blissful reflection

Source: Shanghai Daily | June 21, 2016, Tuesday | Print Edition

HONORED friend (Wang Yong),

I deeply enjoyed your column in which you discussed your recent trip to your friend’s rented farm near Taihu Lake (“‘Memory of home’: Traditions of hospitality and trust still thrive in rural villages,” June 15).

Thanks to the marvels of Google, I was able to locate the lake just to the west of Shanghai so that I could get a better context for understanding your article.

I also appreciated the openness and kindness of rural people whom I encountered in Iowa, especially during the nine years that I lived with (my wife) Karen six miles north of the village of Bellevue (Bellevue only had 2,500 residents, and this in a county that itself had only 20,000 people! Very sparsely occupied when compared to your immense major cities like Shanghai!)

I recognize the truth in your friend Xiao Cao’s comment: “To live on a farm where one becomes part of nature is truly a source of happiness, even a better one than living in a much-coveted house with a courtyard in a downtown area.” Yes, that is what I experienced in that marvelous home perched above the Mississippi River and, to be honest, I do miss that life.

But “missing” is not the same as “regretting” our move to Portland which has been such a source of happiness to Karen. I am so glad that I “breathed so deeply” of life in Bellevue that I retain so many rich memories.

I also accurately remember that life there had its hard — even dangerous — moments: the sweltering heat and high humidity of some summer days were truly becoming increasingly difficult for my aging body to handle. And when great winter blizzards buried roads to town in swirling dunes of snow and ice the only thing that stood between us and freezing — if we lost electrical power, not an uncommon occurrence two or three times each winter — was our gasoline powered generator.

During those blizzards even trying to hike to a neighbor’s home nestled elsewhere in the forests surrounding us would have been unwise, for it is easy to become disoriented in the swirling world of white.

The rural friendliness to strangers was also something I experienced in rural Iowa where every driver one encountered on the roads acknowledged you with a wave or a raised hand as your vehicles flashed by each other, and where people greeted you on the street with a smile and a nod. These days, even in Bellevue, people were not as likely as they once were to leave their doors unlocked, although I remember when that was the case when I was a boy in Davenport (about 60 miles downriver of Bellevue).

Then, as it was still possible for families to be supported by one wage earner (in sharp contrast to the near necessity of both parents working today in order to survive), most women were home during the day, or shopping for groceries, or visiting with family members or neighbors.

I remember when walking to a friend’s house how it was common to see several women waving at me as I passed their homes. This very fact meant that we kids were safer in that time than today because we were under almost constant surveillance in our neighborhoods. (This also meant that juvenile mischief would more certainly bring parental reprimand as someone would have seen what we did and reported it!)

We so desperately need the spirit of sui (“ease and comfort” in Chinese) in our country today! And you are so correct that “ease and comfort” flow from knowing, liking, and trusting one’s fellow human beings. But that can only happen when people invest the time and energy to truly be present to others, to interact, to learn, to listen. In these days, when most homes are empty during the day, and shades are drawn quickly in the evening, it is not easy to even see one’s neighbors, let alone speak to them.

I found your recounting your colleagues’ reactions to your weekend journey interesting. When I took the risky (and, for me, uncharacteristically adventuresome) step of purchasing the house in Bellevue, most of my colleagues at the public pension agency admired the beautiful views of the land and river it offered, and also sighed over the idea of rural peace and quiet, but some others asked, “But what will you do there? There’s so little going on.”

How wrong that urban perspective can be! I drank deeply of the goings on of nature: the graceful beauty of the deer, the wily loveliness of the fox, and the strange dignity of the wild turkey. Not to mention the unceasingly changing canvas of the marvelous sky that, unimpeded by concrete towers, stretched magnificently from one horizon to the other, while everywhere one turned the eye met wondrous shades of green, all representing life in abundance.

Early on hot mornings I would watch several fishermen — each in their own small boat — slowly pass below and in front of our home on the hillside, their slender prows disturbing the mirror quiet of the river. Many hours later, before the true heat of the day came on, they would return, having successfully caught some fish — or not — but having spent some glorious hours floating in the shallow channels that characterized the Mississippi River and its many islands where we lived.

Sometimes I close my eyes and return, just for a few minutes, to that land of color, quiet, and peace. I understand the joy and refreshment that weekend brought you, Yong.

 

Greg

 

Greg Cusack is a retired statesman from Iowa, the United States.

Foreign Views


 

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