Last weekend, Duluth had a serious blizzard, probably the worst since 1991, when I was also here. Technically, not as much snow, but such heavy, wet, stuff that digging out has been extremely challenging. In fact, it's definitely going to be one of those winters when those of us of a certain age avoid going outdoors. I was never into winter sports...my winter sport is looking out the window at the black and white landscape, I guess!
I ended up miscalculating one thing, which was how many books to have out from the library. I raced through the two I had, and was bookless. Disaster. However, a few weeks before, I had found Edwin Way Teale's Springtime in Britain (1970) in the library's own free book shelf. I am not a naturalist and generally have no interest in books about birds, ferns, nature. Sorry, but that's the truth! I had pretty much figured I would just keep this book in my collection of Britainia. But with nothing else to read, I got started, and it is wonderful. He describes his late-1960's springtime trip to Britain, driving with his wife all over the country. For the most part, they avoided cities, and his descriptions of the landscape and animal life are charming, beautiful, grounding.
My readers must be so tired of my England "thing" -- someone asked me the other day, "Why didn't you ever just get over there to live?" What's the answer to that? I simply do not know. At times I have tried and tried, at times I have given up. One likely reason is that my "relationship" with England (and its church music) has simply not been a clear, pure energetic signal. A few years ago, someone gave me a beautiful book of photographs of small English country churches. I tried looking through it, and it made me sob so hard that I have basically never looked at it since. It is too poignant, too hard to look from a distance and not be there. Similarly with listening to webcasts of choral evensong services...often I just simply cannot bear to listen from so far away.
So I see reading Teale's book as a victory of sorts, over my own belief in separation. I have been able to read, to picture many of the places that I also know, and simply smile and feel grounded and part of it. I drew a picture the other day of my feet rooted by long Jack and the Beanstalk vines to Britain. I am trying to get away from the notion of "homesickness" and lean into "home-rootedness." I'll try to use this winter's brutal black and white time to heal that lingering separation within me.
