In this case I am not exactly sure which of the
worlds, in Chama or outside, is “real.”
There was a regularity, and simplicity, of life in Chama. Conversations were polite as folks were focused on common goals while differences were set aside. Life was intimately connected to the seasons,
the slow rhythm of life and the comings and goings of the trains. We have been told the winters are very quiet
with the population shrinking to less than 1,500 in the 4,000 square mile
surrounding Chama. Only few businesses
remain open: a convenience store/gas station, market/hardware store, one
restaurant, a saloon and small primary/middle school. The snow drifts deep and
temperatures plunge to below zero. Life
goes on at a very slow pace, so we are told.
I think this must be the dream world but those
living there are anchored to the reality of the seasons and the struggle of
everyday life. One cannot be in denial
when events demand your attention. Small
things become a moment of joy. Christmas
comes and for a brief moment on a snowy Saturday the whistles sound and a train
runs taking local children on trip up to
Cumbres over show shrouded tracks – then quiet until early spring.
I think our world spoils us. We take trips to buy non-essential things and
complain when things don’t exactly go the way we want. Seemingly, we refuse to see the reality of a
world in which the exact temperature in our house of place of work is of
greater importance than the honesty and candor of a public official or
neighbor. When faced with a different path we too often choose the same regardless of the outcome. We have forgotten the notion of
a “mending wall” and the importance of binding ourselves to others for the
common good.
Next year we leave again for our visit to that “other”
world which is Chama. Six weeks this time
and the year following three months. In
the time between the visits I will be busy with docent study for there and
re-organizing my tasks at work for my eventual semi-retirement in December,
2017. Work to repair the trailer will be
finished in a few weeks and it will be winterized. During this time I will again focus on
simplifying life in this world starting with a renewed effort to “Mend
walls.”
I had forgotten when we first came to Calhoun and I was kindly asked by
Paul to give a little talk at the Thanksgiving ecumenical service, I recited
the following:
Mending
Wall
By Robert Frost
Something there is that doesn't love
a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell
under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the
sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass
abreast.
The work of hunters is another
thing:
I have come after them and made
repair
Where they have left not one stone
on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out
of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps
I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard
them made,
But at spring mending-time we find
them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the
hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the
line
And set the wall between us once
again.
We keep the wall between us as we
go.
To each the boulders that have
fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so
nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them
balance:
"Stay where you are until our
backs are turned!"
We wear our fingers rough with
handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door
game,
One on a side. It comes to little
more:
There where it is we do not need the
wall:
He is all pine and I am apple
orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I
tell him.
He only says, "Good fences make
good neighbours."
Spring is the mischief in me, and I
wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
"Why do they make good neighbours? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there
are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to
know
What I was walling in or walling
out,
And to whom I was like to give
offence.
Something there is that doesn't love
a wall,
That wants it down." I could
say "Elves" to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd
rather
He said it for himself. I see him
there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by
the top
In each hand, like an old-stone
savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to
me,
Not of woods only and the shade of
trees.
He will not go behind his father's
saying,
And he likes having thought of it so
well
He says again, "Good fences
make good neighbours."
