Oh my heart! So much here speaks to me and calls for response, which will have to come later. Meanwhile, one brief tale: an 80-something-year-old man once told me, never greet someone with the question, "How are you?" because people rarely answer honestly and, he said, many people who ask it don't actually want to know how you really are. Instead, he instructed, say, "It's so good to see you!" or something similar. Only ask someone how they are, he said, if you really want an honest reply. I've never forgotten that.
Good afternoon and thank you, Adam and others, for these words and stories. They elicited many images and thoughts for me---one being the need/role of the "town crier" in days past.
Some years back, I had invited a fellow artist friend of mine to come here to the State University of New York- Plattsburgh to work with my students and give a public lecture about her work. She is among the most inspired, humble and talented artist that I know. She and her husband built a house in the woods of Michigan where they raised much of their food and two amazing children, tended to extended family and neighbors and lived simply enough that they managed to have their art-making sustain them (food, children's education, healthcare) in a way that is rarely possible. They are not art market "stars" but they made choices that limited their material needs, etc. Right before my friend was about to begin her talk, an audience member, who I knew was a wealthy art collector, leaned forward from the chair behind me and, knowing I was hosting the artist, asked, "Is she successful?!" I knew what he meant (does she sell alot of her work for high prices) but I remember saying something like, "You'll have to tell me what you mean by that" before the lights dimmed and the gift of her sharing began. The conversation did not pick up when the talk was over. I can only hope he got an answer to his question....
I love this story, Diane. And I am intrigued by the town crier image. I have a hunch that the weekly update on "who needs help and with what" used to, and still does, happen in churches, but not many other places. With thanks, Adam
This is so good. I am sitting in a farmhouse in Veneto, surrounded by so much of what you describe, happening a world away in Italy. I am off to meet the 92yr old baker shortly. Warm greetings from someone grateful for your work.
Thank you for the inspiration, Sally. For the record, I've been using the name "Old Sally" for months, and I hadn't made any connection to you until this morning. It wasn't intentional, but rather one of those coincidences that seemed to perfect to change the name. So I left it.
Ha ha! I figured that was the case. 😅 Still, I’m honored, as it is the elders in my life who have taught me everything of value. Having just lost my beloved Mom in January, and a dear friend, teacher, sweetheart (much older than me) this month, I am bereft of elders to share this particular time and space pocket with me although I still consult their beings at times. But then there’s you, young ‘un, and others I can talk to through reading their words, and always the soil, the growing ones, the flowing ones, the founders of the gift economy we all share and too often forget, to our despair and peril. So grateful for these, and to you for sharing the old ones you find and honor, and lifting up the beauty of their lived wisdom.
yes to so many things you write about here-- and I have so much impatience myself with this boring question that's the norm in our culture, for a lot of different reasons, some you name. When I'm feeling alive & creative I try to be playful with it when its dreaded weight hits a conversation, but it annoys the heck out of me.
Thank you, Adam. This opens a deeper window for me into the real work of creating a gift economy/neighborhood from scratch. I read this post when you first released it, and it's been marinating since.
I'm not so sure Old Sally would've felt a deep sense of worthiness as her foundational M.O. for being able to accept the gift of help when needed. I'm also not sure self reliance wasn't already present in the DNA in those earlier times. For all we know, she may have been quite uncomfortable with the outpouring of care shown her.
But she would've had an unquestioned sense of belonging, a faith in the fabric of community that is completely missing now. Her faith in that community fabric might have also included religious faith, which would perhaps have enabled her to place some or all of the miracle of neighborly helping hands onto the divine.
I think the immense courage required for you to step into the lives of others when no fabric exists, and hold out your bits of colored yarn to them, as you are doing, is phenomenal. It's an act of real vulnerability, which you are performing over and over. And because there is no fabric to support you as you do your best to weave something from nothing, this very real vulnerability will naturally bring up your own stuff (like that sense of unworthiness), in way that Old Sally would probably not have experienced? That's my take on it anyway.
Carrie, Thank you for this provocation. Gorgeous. You are astute to hold up the question, "How badly had culture unravelled by the time Old Sally came around." Surely I am exaggerating a bit in order to make a point in this piece, and I am always trying to push--sometimes gently, other times a bit more forcefully--into the comfort with which we wring our hands and imagine, as European Americans, that our kind has no sharing instinct. I often think: "Maybe I'm wrong about humans, maybe they are basically fearful and self-interested." Then I think: "I think I'd rather live and die imagining that it hasn't always been this way than try to live under the enormous burden of constantly defending myself against others." You call it courage, what I do, but I don't really see it that way. I don't really have another option. I tried that option, and it is un-livable for me. So here we are. Thanks again for the thoughtful dialogue. With care, Adam
You point out the loss of religion, which is also astute. That's a big reason I started attending church a year ago, for the first time since childhood. Some of the brightly colored threads you mention--I have found them there. It's not perfect in any way. Like the dominant culture, it seems to me that modern Christianity is just a shadow now, but in that shadow I gather remnants of a human capacity for mutual concern and sustenance. If there weren't any remnants around to find I wouldn't be able to do this work.
Yes. And by the way, is courage not the same thing as having no other option? The popular idea of a hero is complete fiction. Or so it seems to me. So my original assessment stands: Your courage is phenomenal, and mighty oaks will surely grow from the seeds you're trying to plant now. Future generations will rest beneath their leafy canopies, even if you may not.
Once again, you stir a lot here Carrie. I imagine we'll have lots to discuss should we be granted a chance to trade stories by voice some day. Doing this work for four years plus now I have noticed, again and again, my resistance to receiving praise. I ask others to receive praise regularly, and therefore I notice the stinginess that our unwillingness to stand and receive begets. Here's my hunch: until we can remember and carry in our bones the knowledge that human life--our capacity for generosity, heartbreak, courage, beauty--emerges from landscapes, we will continue to have this pained relationship with praise. So I will stop trying to skirt your claims of courage here, AND I will pass along your kind words to the Farm as I make my rounds today. Landscapes love to be admired aloud, and seem to have no struggle with unworthiness. Thanks to you for all of this, Adam
I'm so pleased to know you will share my praise with your beautiful landscape. It will certainly know how to receive it, yes.
BTW I see you subscribed to my main substack--thank you and welcome. It's actually my other substack, Tales from a half wild garden, where I share sometimes about my deep love and immense respect for the land, and Nature. I suspect we have a great deal in common there. And yes, I too can imagine that many rich and nourishing discussions could be had on a whole variety of interrelated topics. If I ever get back to the States I will surely look you up, for a face-to-face.
Oh my heart! So much here speaks to me and calls for response, which will have to come later. Meanwhile, one brief tale: an 80-something-year-old man once told me, never greet someone with the question, "How are you?" because people rarely answer honestly and, he said, many people who ask it don't actually want to know how you really are. Instead, he instructed, say, "It's so good to see you!" or something similar. Only ask someone how they are, he said, if you really want an honest reply. I've never forgotten that.
I never ask "How are you?" unless I'm willing to stop what I'm doing for a long while. Thank you for this kind note. Adam
Good afternoon and thank you, Adam and others, for these words and stories. They elicited many images and thoughts for me---one being the need/role of the "town crier" in days past.
Some years back, I had invited a fellow artist friend of mine to come here to the State University of New York- Plattsburgh to work with my students and give a public lecture about her work. She is among the most inspired, humble and talented artist that I know. She and her husband built a house in the woods of Michigan where they raised much of their food and two amazing children, tended to extended family and neighbors and lived simply enough that they managed to have their art-making sustain them (food, children's education, healthcare) in a way that is rarely possible. They are not art market "stars" but they made choices that limited their material needs, etc. Right before my friend was about to begin her talk, an audience member, who I knew was a wealthy art collector, leaned forward from the chair behind me and, knowing I was hosting the artist, asked, "Is she successful?!" I knew what he meant (does she sell alot of her work for high prices) but I remember saying something like, "You'll have to tell me what you mean by that" before the lights dimmed and the gift of her sharing began. The conversation did not pick up when the talk was over. I can only hope he got an answer to his question....
I love this story, Diane. And I am intrigued by the town crier image. I have a hunch that the weekly update on "who needs help and with what" used to, and still does, happen in churches, but not many other places. With thanks, Adam
This is so good. I am sitting in a farmhouse in Veneto, surrounded by so much of what you describe, happening a world away in Italy. I am off to meet the 92yr old baker shortly. Warm greetings from someone grateful for your work.
Likewise, Caro. I can't wait to hear about the old baker man or lady. The old craftspeople seem to have the most available cultural memory.
Friend speaks my heart!
Thank you for the inspiration, Sally. For the record, I've been using the name "Old Sally" for months, and I hadn't made any connection to you until this morning. It wasn't intentional, but rather one of those coincidences that seemed to perfect to change the name. So I left it.
Ha ha! I figured that was the case. 😅 Still, I’m honored, as it is the elders in my life who have taught me everything of value. Having just lost my beloved Mom in January, and a dear friend, teacher, sweetheart (much older than me) this month, I am bereft of elders to share this particular time and space pocket with me although I still consult their beings at times. But then there’s you, young ‘un, and others I can talk to through reading their words, and always the soil, the growing ones, the flowing ones, the founders of the gift economy we all share and too often forget, to our despair and peril. So grateful for these, and to you for sharing the old ones you find and honor, and lifting up the beauty of their lived wisdom.
yes to so many things you write about here-- and I have so much impatience myself with this boring question that's the norm in our culture, for a lot of different reasons, some you name. When I'm feeling alive & creative I try to be playful with it when its dreaded weight hits a conversation, but it annoys the heck out of me.
So good to find you on here, thank you.
Bless that Caroline Ross for making the connection, and thank you for your kind note and gift.
Thank you, Adam. This opens a deeper window for me into the real work of creating a gift economy/neighborhood from scratch. I read this post when you first released it, and it's been marinating since.
I'm not so sure Old Sally would've felt a deep sense of worthiness as her foundational M.O. for being able to accept the gift of help when needed. I'm also not sure self reliance wasn't already present in the DNA in those earlier times. For all we know, she may have been quite uncomfortable with the outpouring of care shown her.
But she would've had an unquestioned sense of belonging, a faith in the fabric of community that is completely missing now. Her faith in that community fabric might have also included religious faith, which would perhaps have enabled her to place some or all of the miracle of neighborly helping hands onto the divine.
I think the immense courage required for you to step into the lives of others when no fabric exists, and hold out your bits of colored yarn to them, as you are doing, is phenomenal. It's an act of real vulnerability, which you are performing over and over. And because there is no fabric to support you as you do your best to weave something from nothing, this very real vulnerability will naturally bring up your own stuff (like that sense of unworthiness), in way that Old Sally would probably not have experienced? That's my take on it anyway.
Carrie, Thank you for this provocation. Gorgeous. You are astute to hold up the question, "How badly had culture unravelled by the time Old Sally came around." Surely I am exaggerating a bit in order to make a point in this piece, and I am always trying to push--sometimes gently, other times a bit more forcefully--into the comfort with which we wring our hands and imagine, as European Americans, that our kind has no sharing instinct. I often think: "Maybe I'm wrong about humans, maybe they are basically fearful and self-interested." Then I think: "I think I'd rather live and die imagining that it hasn't always been this way than try to live under the enormous burden of constantly defending myself against others." You call it courage, what I do, but I don't really see it that way. I don't really have another option. I tried that option, and it is un-livable for me. So here we are. Thanks again for the thoughtful dialogue. With care, Adam
You point out the loss of religion, which is also astute. That's a big reason I started attending church a year ago, for the first time since childhood. Some of the brightly colored threads you mention--I have found them there. It's not perfect in any way. Like the dominant culture, it seems to me that modern Christianity is just a shadow now, but in that shadow I gather remnants of a human capacity for mutual concern and sustenance. If there weren't any remnants around to find I wouldn't be able to do this work.
Yes. And by the way, is courage not the same thing as having no other option? The popular idea of a hero is complete fiction. Or so it seems to me. So my original assessment stands: Your courage is phenomenal, and mighty oaks will surely grow from the seeds you're trying to plant now. Future generations will rest beneath their leafy canopies, even if you may not.
Once again, you stir a lot here Carrie. I imagine we'll have lots to discuss should we be granted a chance to trade stories by voice some day. Doing this work for four years plus now I have noticed, again and again, my resistance to receiving praise. I ask others to receive praise regularly, and therefore I notice the stinginess that our unwillingness to stand and receive begets. Here's my hunch: until we can remember and carry in our bones the knowledge that human life--our capacity for generosity, heartbreak, courage, beauty--emerges from landscapes, we will continue to have this pained relationship with praise. So I will stop trying to skirt your claims of courage here, AND I will pass along your kind words to the Farm as I make my rounds today. Landscapes love to be admired aloud, and seem to have no struggle with unworthiness. Thanks to you for all of this, Adam
I'm so pleased to know you will share my praise with your beautiful landscape. It will certainly know how to receive it, yes.
BTW I see you subscribed to my main substack--thank you and welcome. It's actually my other substack, Tales from a half wild garden, where I share sometimes about my deep love and immense respect for the land, and Nature. I suspect we have a great deal in common there. And yes, I too can imagine that many rich and nourishing discussions could be had on a whole variety of interrelated topics. If I ever get back to the States I will surely look you up, for a face-to-face.