A Temporary Reprieve

Oh, February.  Forever dangling warm weather under my nose only to knock me over the head with an icy blow--and usually a cold or sinus infection for good measure.  I do try not be drawn in by the balmy 40/50/60 degree days, by the first time it is warm enough to smell the soggy dark earth and feel a little glow from the sun.  I try, and I fail--it is an irresistible call.

This week, a friend and I  had our first bike-ride of the year.  Jason dug my Schwinn out of the ranks of neglected bikes lining our garage, pumped up the tires, and brushed away a few layers of dust.  Last summer was so hot that I barely touched my bike; living as we did without air-conditioning at first and then with only a tiny window unit, neither Jason nor I could muster up much enthusiasm for self-propelled transportation--more perspiration was not what we were looking for.  I am determined to make some changes in this department, however, and last night was a great reminder of why.

Maybe it is just me, but whenever I jump on a bike and pedal off down the road, I am forcibly reminded of the freedom that a bike represented to me as a child, zipping off with my neighborhood gang in our summer-long war between "cops" and "robbers."  With my feet in the pedals I am off, perhaps to an adventure, and no one can wrangle me back inside.  I need nothing, no money, no gas, no seat belt, no silly glass between me and the world--and what a vivid world it is when you are out in it, traveling at a pace where sights and sounds have a chance to sink in.  The first year that we did a bunch of bike riding (as adults), I was amazed at the houses in our neighborhood that I'd never noticed during year after year of driving by, all of the human and nonhuman details that I'd missed.   

This is an intangible value that permeates the larger homesteading goals I am working on this year, this insistence in pursuing simplicity, slowing down, savoring the great gift of life right now--your one wild and precious life, as Mary Oliver would say.

(Unless the Buddhists win the world-religion Lotto, in which case I would like to come back as a pampered house cat with lots of sunny bay windows, please.)

PK notwithstanding, I've never found the idea of winning some laureled throne in a far-off heaven to have much appeal, particularly if it means viewing the world now as a trial and temptation standing between me and the afterlife.  We in the West have largely adopted this doesn't-matter-in-the-long-run mentality toward the planet whether we subscribe to the Christian underpinnings or not.  It strikes me as such a lousy and ungrateful attitude, but here we are.

Right.  Sorry to lecture.  As I approach the end of my master's program, I find myself occasionally preoccupied by trying to assess and pin down the morality and philosophy of sustainability, of my own work both here and in the larger context of community.  It is not enough to levy heavy rules and regulations, to make environmentalism a weary litany of self-sacrifice and a constant effort to toe the line--it is also necessary to inspire passion and sympathy, to evoke a sense of connection and the sacred within the normal confines of our days together in this world.  We work most tirelessly, after all, for that which we love.

And, if you believe my monologuing here, riding your bike around town can be part of that love story.  Wow.  If you can make that theoretical leap with me, then I suppose we're on our way....

Anyway, happy short-lived, carrot-versus-stick February warm spell.  Enjoy the heck out of it.