Thinking about Dr. Martin Shaw's concept of being "of" a place, as opposed to "from" a place.
Thinking about the long history of the land beneath my feet as I do my morning laps through a chill winter mist between the oaks.
Thinking about the Native American grinding rock we found among the leaves in our back ten acres, and wondering who made it, who used it, and why they left it.
Thinking about the tiny-toed horses that pranced along the I-5 corridor eons before my fat white mare came to graze here.
Thinking about how deep my roots have grown into the red forest clay of our 20 acres, and realizing that after 29 years, I have only began to understand its wisdom or listen to the songs it sings to itself.
Yes, a new year and a new decade. A good time to learn about being "of" a place, and with humility understand that my part in its long history is but the blink of an eye. When I am gone, what songs will it sing about me?
