I have carried my ancestors from Europe with me always, but especially through this trip (my W.W.O.O.F.ing trip that started in May) as they were farmers as far back as our family’s written history will go. I find that my fingers grow calluses gratefully after a hard day’s work and I feel my ancestors supporting the strength of my skin to earn harvest.
Then there are other ancestors giving me strength, yet I do not know what they did or where exactly they came, just that they were from this side of the world. Deep inside they have always been and will always be, giving my bones the courage they need to move, only in a very different way.
However, I am displaced, as are many Americans, and I do not quite remember the ways of the land my ancestors tended for so many thousands of years. Here at Songaia I am reminded that, no matter how far we have traveled, or what blood runs through our veins, we are human and we stand on land. What we choose to do, live to survive or live to profit, is what matters. The humility we keep is the important part. As long as we decide to cherish and support the land, helping it to thrive, to regenerate and give it hopes for many years of health, we have a place to live. We are welcome.
As Patricia, Amy and I begin to plant cover crops and blanket them with remay, all the knowledge that was thus gained here has been seeded and covered to grow into my next journey as well. As the garden turns, I turn. I will miss greatly all that is Songaia, I will miss each and everyone’s individual beauty. I will never forget the faces, the laughter, the shared wisdom, and the teeming garden I was so blessed to have tended. Thank you for this opportunity, thank you for showing me that a supportive community is possible is this brave new world.