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To change ideas about what land is for is to change ideas about what anything is for.
—Aldo Leopold
Well, I'm off. In two days I will be gone, driving north to Alberta, Canada for the Betty Williams cattle clinic, then three weeks of hiking in the Canadian Rockies with my family. End of June, I'll be putting them on a plane back home and continuing on east to Saskatchewan with Ty, to spend the next two months living in a tent and tending sheep at Dog Tale Ranch, culminating in a five day sheep camp at the end of August.
Leaving home for three months when I've hardly been away for more than a few days for the past twenty-seven years is more than a little strange. The preparations have been vast and complex. At this point my whole family is anxious and tired and it's hard to believe we'll ever get out of here. But we will.
When I tell people what I'm doing with my summer, the most common reaction is "what a big adventure!" Subtext: one I myself would never consider for a minute.
Much rarer, but more gratifying, and entirely from stockdog folks: "I am so envious. You better write about this." (like I could stop myself)
And then there are always those who are honestly bewildered. Wouldn't you rather do something more explicable and normal? Say, a Carribbean cruise? To these I say "I guess I'm just crazy," accompanied by a hapless grinning shrug.
There are various real reasons, of course. I think I have an unusually talented dog, and I know the only way he will be able to develop those talents is through long miles of work accompanied by long miles of wise training, opportunities I just don't have here. And, I long for the kind of renewing solitude that only seems accessible to me via a wide horizon. I want to test myself against my dreams and see if we fit together. So many people dream, but are afraid to give up the known to find that out. Me too! But not so afraid that I'm not going to take the opportunity when it arises.
One thing I will most likely have is limited access to is the internet. Will I be able to upload Diary essays this summer? I don't know. I don't even know if I'll be able to read my email. I've become as addicted as anyone to checking my messages multiple times a day, googling everything, reading yahoo boards, watching clips on youtube, and of course, constantly updating my website. Technology always changes the way you think and feel, and not being able to lean on computers to solve my problems, most especially those of boredom and inner restlessness, will probably involve some inner strife of some kind.
I am packing some old-fashioned tools to address the vexing question of what to do with my mind without an electronic umbilical cord to the universe: a bound journal, a fountain pen, a portable Thoreau, a set of Shakespeare's most famous tragedies (always meant to read those), and a Bible. I'm also packing some lighter reading, including Winterdance, Gary Paulsen's account of his first Iditarod, which is one of those books you should never read on public transportation because you will disturb the other passengers with your uncontrollable howls of laughter.
More than anything else, I am looking forward to reinvesting myself bodily in the land—the living home of the animals and plants that sustain us all. I've always been ambivalent about reality—knowing what it is has always seemed like a good idea, but hard to put into practice. Nothing I've ever tried has a stronger resemblance to reality than tending livestock on grassland with dogs. How long have humans been doing this? Ten thousand years? I believe that healing our relationship with the land is the same thing as healing ourselves.
Humans are so adaptable they can even live entirely within the circumference of their own minds. I'm particularly good at that, myself. I feel quite safe there. But that is not my aim in life. I'm heading outdoors.