A New Furrow

Dillon's Furrow Marker

Dillon’s Furrow Marker

LAKE MACBRIDE— March roared in like a lion, disrupting the solitude of our lake side home, and any short-term plans. New car, new jobs, new schedule, new everything it seemed.

Indoors activities dominated as snow fell, and the ground stayed frozen. To get back to a semblance of normal, there is comfort food: a Dutch oven of red beans and rice is simmering on the stove. A throwback to when I spent weekends preparing lunches for work during what now seems like ancient times— enslaved as I was to a career path I didn’t understand. Lunch today should be delicious.

While a lot is going on, it is not reactionary. More like letting loose the hounds on a life long in preparation. I have come of age. Remembering Yeats, “the ceremony of innocence is drowned.” Whatever naivety persisted is confronted with the existential need for action, tempered by diverse experience. The idea is to change, enabling a sustainable future. By now, it is well beyond the idea stage.

Like Lyman Dillon, I am at the ready to plow the furrow that would become a new road. I am ready to tame the wild turbulence of an angry March and turn it into sustainability. My commission comes from no Dutchman Van Buren, with his philosophy that free men on free soil comprised a morally and economically superior system. I have no fixed philosophies, just that slavery to a permutation of culture for its own sake is bankrupt. It is time to dig in.

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