“Seasons” by Kye Kye, Tuesday, March 29, 2022

The changing of seasons will fascinate me until climate change renders the seasons one blur of erratic weather. I always long for the year that I sit in nature drinking in the subtle changes of each day. I've never been one for grandiose ambitions, and there is some spark that ignites in my heart whenever I read nature. The semester that I took British Lit. II in community college, I felt so taken by the Romantics and their descriptions of the Lake District. When I listened to the speech with Wendell Berry in preparation for my Paper Route post, I felt that spark as well.

WEARY EYES. Listening to Wendell Berry's speech reminded me of a dream I have had that I've never actually committed to writing. I had a fantasy about taking a full year off from modern life with all of its stresses and working on a farm--maybe my grandparents' farm--and then writing a book about what I learned over the course of one year. In this fantasy, I'd do all of the chores to keep the farm going, working alongside my grandparents or the farm owner, basically working as a farmhand. I'd rise in the morning before dawn, feeding the cows. I'd work until sundown doing whatever tasks in the field I was told to do. I'm sure I'd be really bad at everything at first, but I'd practice and get better. Eventually, I'd know the right questions to ask my grandfather about how he's kept the farm going all these years. I'd begin to see patterns and maybe understand the business of a small farm. I'd find out why he kept certain animals and not others. As the year goes by I'd get to help out with making maple syrup, planting corn, baling hay, and raising cows from calf to slaughter. The evenings I'd work on my writing, and I'd read novels instead of watching TV.

FORGETTING ALL THE REASONS YOU USED IN THE PAST.  But this is just a fantasy. My grandfather died in 2015 while I was in Korea. I think of me, a boy who was pretty much good for nothing when it came to outside work--sure I could hammer nails--really has no business in the great outdoors. I never showed much interest in agriculture when I was a kid. It was computer games and indoor things mostly. But every time I look outside and see change in the seasons, I think about that dream to be closer to nature, to be closer to my grandfather who tilled the earth until his death. And I realize that it's arrogant to think of a life being closer to nature as being stress-free. I'm certain I'd be more the guy from Into the Wild than Bear Grylls. I'd struggle to provide for myself let alone make a business about it. But there's something romantic about the literal struggle to survive compared to city living with my current struggles. And none of this has anything to do with Kye Kye's song "Seasons." It's just a thought that popped into my head when I heard the song today. It reminded me of my "Bike Mix" playlist from years ago when I was riding my bike to work before I felt that was completely unsafe. I thought about the scenery I saw as the seasons changed, when summer started to cool into fall, when fall cooled into winter, and winter started to warm into spring. I never rode in summer, though. I keep cycling through the seasons, expecting something new without changing anything about myself.

 

Read “Seasons” by Kye Kye on Genius