blogger mom

I've been able to spend some time reading this summer. Riley and I finished the first Harry Potter book early in the summer. I have been waiting to start this series for a long time. I wanted to wait and read it with one of my boys. It was awesome and we have just started the second book. Riley and I have also finished the first two books of the Shadow Children series and we are working on book three now.

On my own I read The Shipping News. It was a great fiction book that deserved the Pulitzer Prize it received in 1994. I couldn't put it down and was sad to say goodbye to the characters when I was finished. I watched the movie as well...it was decent but in no way compared to the quality of the book.

The book I've really been struggling with is The Blueberry Years by Jim Minick. It was enjoyable reading, but disjointed and I had a hard time staying focused while reading it. I took a break from it for quite a few weeks and then came back to it this week. The second half of the book brought everything together for me and by the final chapter I was moved to tears. I felt as though the author was setting me free, giving our family permission to live and heal after the years we struggled through in Grandview and Franklinton.

I know that this move to Gambier was necessary for our family. We have always had a peace about this move, knowing it was the right choice for the six of us. My concern has been over what other people think...do they think we're running from Franklinton...do they think we're quitters. Do others think we've "sold out" on our idealism and dreams? I knew in my heart that wasn't the case at all, but what about our acquaintances and even our friends back in Columbus? Minick has these same concerns after leaving the blueberry farm he started but is leaving after 10 years of work and struggle. He writes:

"But why move?" we keep getting asked through the last season of blueberries...Finally we settle of the answer: we're moving for beauty. We tell the askers that we fell in love with another farm that just has so much splendor that we can't leave it, can't give up the chance to live there. I get a few odd looks from pickers when I say the word beauty, but I let it pass. I'm beginning to learn from this field of berries that sometimes beauty and business don't mix, that maybe our highest human achievement isn't monetary wealth but creative joy. I had hoped to find that creative spirit here in this field and I did for a while...And then I remember Thoreau. At the end of Walden, he, too, faced this why-move question, asked it of himself. And like him, as he shut the door to his shack by Walden Pond, I find I, too, have "several more lives to live." I want to go live them.

And then here is where he really gets me...where I felt like someone put into words the defense I've often wanted to offer for myself so many times:

The dense foliage rubs against my bare arms, and I gently part the canes in search of fruit. As I pluck a berry, I realize these bushes have taught us that it's all right to fail. Or maybe quit's the better word. It's okay to quit a cherished dream, especially if quitting opens such a wide door to more time to write and to hike wooded hills that surround us on our new farm.