This weekend has lit my view and understanding of rural Massachusetts. The shades of fear have faded and the clarity of the wilderness and simple living is a comfort. The annual St. Francis Day event on Woman and War is only a few weeks away and the work involved until then will be busy and steady. The three others and I worked in the basement Saturday morning making phone calls, writing letters, and sending fliers to what seems to be and endless supply of contacts. But working alongside people who care about what they’re doing makes a world of difference and the sync we attained, each with our own strengths, is going to help along the way. We met several more members of the local town, who were meeting here to discuss future plans for Agape, and then left them to their discussions while Nathan, Dana and I took a hike to the local Reservoir. It only took an hour to walk the tree crowded trails till we hit the large, deep blue lake, just near enough from shore to shore to make out the other side. The solace was only defeated by a boat or two and generally we enjoyed the silences as much as we did the conversations. The work we do during the week I hope will be plenty worth these weekend adventures. After skipping stones, cracking geodes and getting to know one another we walked back to the house for a brief refresher and walked up to the hermitage which none of us has yet seen. We talked for an hour or so about our impressions of the area and discussed our concerns about the times we live and brought the session back to the house for an evening of relaxation and humour. This Sunday morning we all slept in till mid-morning, had our coffee and tea, and drove to the farmers market. I was told there would be live music and that I should join in on that fun but refused until someone handed me a Martin guitar and I could no longer resist the temptation to play along. We played for about two hours till my fingers were numb and my thumb about to fall off. The guys around the circle were middle aged to older and played for the love of song and lyric. One man, though I have forgotten his name, drove up in his Model A Ford, which he told me he had been driving for fifty years and 500,000 miles, hopped out with a rustic mandolin and bare feet and joined us for a small time. All he needed was a grain of wheat in his teeth and I would have left convinced that I was in a dream because these things are not real. Despite all the idiosyncrasies of this place the one familiar thing to me has been the other interns, still sweating the real world just as I am. I do not think I have been relaxed these two days on account of the familiar though. I think the reassurance that I can survive, be fed well and prosper despite the difference of perspective is the cause. I look forward to knowing the people behind the stories here, shedding my city mind and seeing things in a simpler way. Tomorrow we wake up early for prayer and start again. Perhaps some more work in the garden or readying the community for our St. Francis Day event. This time I am ready and not just pushing my body along. My head is not fully caught up but at least I sense that I am nearer there with every hour.
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