Time in the country
Jul. 24th, 2008 09:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
altivoA friend who has been absent from LJ for a while remarks that for the first time in his life, he is living in a rural area, not the city. Time flows in a different way there, he says, yet he seems not entirely unhappy with it.
I had to agree. It's hard for folks who have always lived in the city to understand until they've actually been here a while. It's different, but not in a bad way. Time matters here too, but we measure it in days, months, and seasons, by the rising and setting of the sun rather than by the turning of the hands on a clock face. The birds come and go at their proper times of the year, and sunrise and sunset shift about on the face of the clock yet have certain tasks tied to them whenever they occur.
There's no hurrying nature. A chicken takes a day to lay an egg. We can select and breed (and have done so) to make sure the hen lays an egg nearly every day of the year, but she still needs a full day to lay an egg. That's because egg laying is tied to the cycle of dark and light. Even when artificial lighting is used, there must be light and darkness in the right proportion and it turns out that an artificial day of about 25 hours maximizes the production of hen's eggs as much as it can be done. Strawberries ripen in June, cherries in July, blackberries in August. Nothing changes these things, they are all tied to the sun.
Time still matters, of course. The garden must be planted at the right time, and tended and watered regularly. Cows have to be milked and there's no denying them their due. Most animals want their feed when the sun rises (or sets, in a few cases.) But as we change our cycles to match those of nature, we start to notice things that are invisible to city dwellers. You can, honestly, see corn growing. You can hear it too, if you have good hearing and not too much traffic or airplane noise. Corn grows very fast in July.
The much reduced noise level makes you hear things you never heard before, such as the creaking of tree branches, the tiny songs of insects, and some of the most gorgeous birdsong that exists on the face of the planet. Here I award that title to the Wood Thrush, but everyplace has its king of song.
We appreciate the shade cast by trees in the heat of summer, and the windbreak they provide when winter winds blow. Unlike those who keep yards in the city, we don't resent the falling leaves, but take advantage of them for mulch, compost, and ground cover. When the snows of winter trap us in our homes for a day or two, we honor the chance to reflect, and do different things, rather than fret and pace the floor because we can't get to the mall or the theatre or whatever it is that drives city folks mad at the sight of a snowflake.
The irrefutable logic of zen is easier to perceive and accept in this natural world that refuses to be driven by clocks and sirens.
I had to agree. It's hard for folks who have always lived in the city to understand until they've actually been here a while. It's different, but not in a bad way. Time matters here too, but we measure it in days, months, and seasons, by the rising and setting of the sun rather than by the turning of the hands on a clock face. The birds come and go at their proper times of the year, and sunrise and sunset shift about on the face of the clock yet have certain tasks tied to them whenever they occur.
There's no hurrying nature. A chicken takes a day to lay an egg. We can select and breed (and have done so) to make sure the hen lays an egg nearly every day of the year, but she still needs a full day to lay an egg. That's because egg laying is tied to the cycle of dark and light. Even when artificial lighting is used, there must be light and darkness in the right proportion and it turns out that an artificial day of about 25 hours maximizes the production of hen's eggs as much as it can be done. Strawberries ripen in June, cherries in July, blackberries in August. Nothing changes these things, they are all tied to the sun.
Time still matters, of course. The garden must be planted at the right time, and tended and watered regularly. Cows have to be milked and there's no denying them their due. Most animals want their feed when the sun rises (or sets, in a few cases.) But as we change our cycles to match those of nature, we start to notice things that are invisible to city dwellers. You can, honestly, see corn growing. You can hear it too, if you have good hearing and not too much traffic or airplane noise. Corn grows very fast in July.
The much reduced noise level makes you hear things you never heard before, such as the creaking of tree branches, the tiny songs of insects, and some of the most gorgeous birdsong that exists on the face of the planet. Here I award that title to the Wood Thrush, but everyplace has its king of song.
We appreciate the shade cast by trees in the heat of summer, and the windbreak they provide when winter winds blow. Unlike those who keep yards in the city, we don't resent the falling leaves, but take advantage of them for mulch, compost, and ground cover. When the snows of winter trap us in our homes for a day or two, we honor the chance to reflect, and do different things, rather than fret and pace the floor because we can't get to the mall or the theatre or whatever it is that drives city folks mad at the sight of a snowflake.
The irrefutable logic of zen is easier to perceive and accept in this natural world that refuses to be driven by clocks and sirens.
