I cried at the thought of potentially selling the land I had grown up on.
Wailed, actually. Deep, heaving chest wailed. I love this piece of earth. Its where I grew up, its where I got to experience freedom, its where at the age of ten I was given a f150, a radio and specific instructions not to mention this to my mother and was sent on my way.
The ranch is where I first understood that life and death are not mutually exclusive, but the inhale and exhale of the same breath. A lesson learned at the age of six when one of our first momma cows couldn’t birth her calf and it was dead by the time we were able to get it out.
Its where I understood that trees’ branches mimic the spread of their roots system and the elements of water and air can damage even the strongest of trees. A lesson learned after a storm blew through and uprooted an old oak tree.
Its where my respect for animals both domestic and wild was solidified. A lesson learned after multiple dog bites because of my lack of respect for their space; scrambling up fences in the cattle pen because I wasn’t going to be the winner in a standoff between myself and a cow; where the smartest thing to do when you see a rattler minding its own damn business, is mind your own damn business.
The ranch is where I understood what good clean air can do for your health. A lesson I’m reminded of every time I’m there and can’t get out of bed on time.
Its where my desire to clean up man made trash in natural spaces came from. A lesson learned when we would find trash from other decades along the gullies.
Its where my core foundation of only taking what you need and being respectful of the life it gives, so that multiple generations can partake in the same activity, came from. Something I’m reminded of every hunting season.
The ranch is where I started to understand that good things take time. A lesson learned when an unripe dewberry was too sour.
Its where I recognized the presence of the Spirit will always be stronger and more healing in nature than any hallowed hall, steeple, or cathedral. One of my favorite days of my life was spent at the ranch, in the sun, sometimes in silence, just my friend Kat and I, having an honest conversation about what we believed. The community, friendship, and support that day grew into is, in my opinion, the direct proof of a redemptive Spirit’s influence over us if we choose honesty and goodness.
This piece of earth is also where I first understood the privilege I was born into. My childhood experience was an outlier to most of the population.
I learned the power of breaking bread with loved ones there. I learned that family isn’t just blood. I learned grace is freely given, but sometimes we don’t choose to fully receive it.
As my father tried to console me as I cried over something that was merely a possibility, he said
“ an older man told when I first got into ranching, that the number one rule is don’t fall in love with the land.”
I’ve been thinking about this ever since. Don’t fall in love with the land? How can you not? If this is the advice my father was given, then he hadn’t taken it, and that’s not what he taught me. I spent 25 years watching him go to the land for comfort, joy, and peace (with a rather large dose of heartache and backache as well). I watched him fight for it, I listened to him talk about his love for the mighty oak trees and we had communion with orange juice and a sunrise on Easter morning. We both fell in love with the land.
I live over a thousand miles away from that piece of land now. But falling in love with that piece of land meant falling in love with every piece of land I walk.
Its why I walk to work when I can. Its why I pick up other people’s trash on the beach and the side of the road. Its why when I’m sad, angry, depressed I run to nature. Its why even to this day when I hear Dixie Chicks’ “Cowboy Take Me Away” and “Wide Open Spaces” I get a lump in my throat. Its why when I forget my reusable bags, forget to turn the lights off, or see others flick cigarette butts on the ground I feel a moment of panic.
I am truly head over heels, in love with the land. Not just that acreage in South Texas either, all of it.
This is something I knew but was not paying attention to in my early twenties.
It was not until I got sick, had my life put on hold, and then started looking for answers that I realized it. In my search for what went wrong with my body, I found what went wrong with our food system. As I learned what went wrong with our food system, I found what went wrong with our relationship with the land. We had stopped loving it. We had taken the advice…
Don’t fall in love with the land.
We built a whole system on that foundation and now it is crumbling around us and making us sick.
If we want to live we have to help the land live too.
This isn’t a new idea. Native and Indigenous peoples have been telling us this since we unceremoniously showed up here, but we weren’t listening.
It’s time to listen. To the people who were here first, to nature, to the land, to our own bodies.
This is why I want to start a farm using a regenerative agriculture model.
This is why I want to continue to educate myself on how to use my dollar to support systems that support the earth. This is why I wanted to travel and learn about how people love the land world wide, but I accept that this might not be the best way to love the land. This is why I want to share what I find here.
I will fail. I will feel heartache. I will be angry and others will be angry at me. But I will try. I will continue to try. I will do better and I wont give up.
Because that is what love does. It doesn’t give up.
So this Earth Day I want to say FALL IN LOVE WITH THE LAND.
Accept the heartache, anxiety, and backpain that comes with it. The land gives us life, lets participate in the circle and give life back.
I hope to move forward in this space in a way that promotes that. I hope to learn from others and share with others what I learn.
If you’ve made it this far, I hope you’ve started to think about what lessons you’ve learned from the land. I’d love to know your favorite and what you hope you can do to give life back.