Friday, December 20, 2013


People cut through the yard at Sage Garden.  I've been told by neighbors that I need to be stern with trespassers, and I agree that's a valid way to be.  I admit with a little regret that I once scolded someone for walking right by my open door on his way to a friend's house.  If I forget for a moment that fist-shaking is endorsed and expected, and consider whether I really want to act that way, it's obvious that I don't.  One day, people won't cut through here anymore - it's inevitable.  Right now, the front yard is bare gravel, with a sidewalk exactly where pedestrians would want it, but as the area develops into a domestic space to be enjoyed, and looks more like a home than a shortcut, will pedestrians start walking around it?  Is that what I want?  To cultivate a place for enjoyment and then prevent people from enjoying it?  Fast-forward even more, is extinction in the cards for our species?  Seems like the consensus opinion among religious and secular worldviews that a day will come when we're no longer on this planet.  And when we're gone, if some piece of me remembers this day and can weigh in on the question of how to treat trespassers, wouldn't I rather invite everyone in than try to keep them out?  Or if our memory is held only by this dirt and the things that live in it, what will their opinions be?  Will they prefer the trespassers who unwittingly nourished the soil by spitting on the ground, or the well-intentioned property managers who used long-lasting poisons to quell the more, shall we say, spontaneous elements of life?
All elements of life are spontaneous.  Life IS spontaneous.  Or maybe more accurately and more to the point, the ingrained patterns of life and growth aren't swayed by your plans or mine.  And if I truly want this place to be alive and to induce more life in the people plants and animals who encounter it, I'll not only accept unexpected foot traffic - I'll learn to thrive on it.