Plague Journal, Friendship & Revolution
I met with two friends yesterday at St. James Farm Forest Preserve in Winfield for a walk in the woods. St. James Farm was originally a retreat of many decades for the McCormick family. purchased the farm in 1920. He was the great nephew of Cyrus McCormick who invented the first commercially successful mechanical reaper.
Three of us for over an hour walked on a trail through the woods and wetlands. The snow covered ground, the massive old oaks, preserved from commercial development, were preternaturally quiet at mid day. “Development” At this point in time the term is another word for erasure, for oblivion. Do we not view everything according to its calculated exchange value? I gave thanks inwardly as we walked for public institutions such as Forest Preserve Districts tasked with saving Nature from the bulldozers.
As we walked we happened to talk about aspects of our past, lives 
we once lived when we were younger. We remembered individuals who we made common cause with when we were students. That was a time of inexperience, but of excitement as life lay before us as unmarked as fresh snow, rich with possibility. A backward look at that time reminded me that I had yet to engage unknown circumstances, with wit, wisdom, strength or with an insufficiency of those qualities. The branching pattern of my adult life remained to be written. But now, two of us, older and maybe a little wiser, and one of us in the prime of life walked together in the woods and took the measure of our lives as we walked.
Friendship, the time and effort required to weave a mutual understanding of another — is a revolutionary act in this time in which we live. Or so it seems to me. The pandemic aside, never mind the strictures of social distancing, — the pace of normal life, the activities and scheduling demands entailed by the convenience of the internet, by our iphones, is life lived at warp speed. The logic is inescapable. Time left over is not enough time for friendship. Also, friendship cannot be cultivated when what you have is a two dimensional pixeled simulacra, an image on a screen. Months of social distancing, mask wearing just adds to the difficulty of being with another, of assessing facial expression, or hearing clearly the intonation of a voice.
A walk in the woods, dedicated to friendship is an act of defiance, a expression of revolutionary resistance.
6 thoughts on “Plague Journal, Friendship & Revolution”
This is so powerful for me.
At 67, I am clear that there is more runway behind me than ahead of me.
Already I am losing the lifelong friendships that I have nurtured for so very many years.
On December 27 my friend Phyllis died. Her family moved in across the street from mine when she wad 5; I was 4. Although a career opportunity took her dad and his young family out of state when we were pre-teens, somehow, through snail mail letters, occasional long distance phone calls and even more occasional F2F visits, our friendship endured. Until she died. A real for better or worse, in sickness and in health story that shaped my life.
Kryssie, 4 years my senior and a dear friend of 30+ years died only 11 weeks after receiving a devastating diagnosis of glioblastoma.
My younger brother, Bill died unexpectedly after a massive coronary while in the woods fishing with a friend.
Even my ex-husband, my daughter’s father, Dick died alone in unusual circumstances in March of 2020 just as the coronavirus was making itself know here in Illinois.
Friends. Isn’t there an old song that calls them “the silver threads among the gold?” I call them mirrors; mirrors of me life staring back at me.
“Friendship,” you say, “”the time and effort required to weave a mutual understanding of another — is a revolutionary act in this time in which we live.”
I would go further and say that it is always a revolutionary act, made more so in the time in which we live.
It takes time, yes lots of time and energy and intention to nurture any type of friendship; especially those that can sustain the ups and downs of a life-time of real life living and sharing.
My memories of my dearest friends warm my heart and bring smiles to my face. Anticipation, a frequently overlooked part of life, is more challenging now.
Who has the time, energy and intention to begin anew with a blank book and fill in the details of 67 years of living?
If you are out there, call me.
Our thoughts parallel when it comes to friendship. Loss is agonizing as friends cannot be replaced, — we just carry on with memories, feeling their presence as memory. No question that it has always been like this. My mother lived to almost 90 and she spoke of the difficulty of outliving nearly all of her friends.
I have found solace in the Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot. The four poems are meditations on the passage of time. They are available as a pdf on the internet.
Here are some lines from the second stanza of the Dry Salvages:
Where is there an end of it, the soundless wailing,
The silent withering of autumn flowers
Dropping their petals and remaining motionless;
Where is there an end to the drifting wreckage,
The prayer of the bone on the beach, the unprayable
Prayer at the calamitous annunciation?
There is no end, but addition: the trailing
Consequence of further days and hours,
While emotion takes to itself the emotionless
Years of living among the breakage
Of what was believed in as the most reliable—
And therefore the fittest for renunciation.
There is the final addition, the failing
Pride or resentment at failing powers,
The unattached devotion which might pass for devotionless,
In a drifting boat with a slow leakage,
The silent listening to the undeniable
Clamour of the bell of the last annunciation.
Thank you so much for sharing this resource. The verses you shared hit home. I look forward to diving deeper into the full work.
I was going to add some words to this posting, but I believe that you and Cynthia have said it all so well, anything else would be superfluous. Thank you!
If you change your mind, do weigh in.
Up the revolution! the streets (and the parks) belong to the people! Power to the people!
Om shanti shanti shanti