Belden Lane in his book, The Solace of Fierce Landscapes, quotes Lawrence Kushner (p. 37):
"The memories of a place become a part of it. Places and things never forget what they have been witnesses to and vehicles of and entrances for. What has happened there happened nowhere else. Like ghosts who can neither forget what they have seen nor leave where they saw it, such are the memories tied to places of ascent."
When Mary and I were first married--35 years ago this Sunday—I read an article by a pastor that fascinated me. He and his family had bought a cabin in Minnesota, and that became their focal point, their holy ground and sacred space, as they moved many places over the years, living mostly in parsonages.
That made sense to Mary and me. Unlike most cabin people, we were not interested in living on a lake. We wanted a cabin in the country, on a fair amount of land that would give us privacy, places to hike, and a place that could serve as a refuge for all kinds of wildlife.
The first day of searching we found the place of our dreams, a once Finnish farmstead, built in 1905, on forty acres near Menahga, Minnesota, complete with a separate sauna. On October 2, 1986, as Mary was about to give birth to our first child, we received a call notifying us that our offer had been accepted. We named our place Blueberry River Farm, because “a river runs through it.”
Like that other pastor family, this cabin truly has become a holy place for us, our sacred place and space. It has been the place to which we have always returned, whether living in Mexico, Dunseith, N.D., Grand Forks, Fargo, Phoenix, or Virginia. It has been the place where our children have grown up, loving and growing to know nature. They have had about every kind of pet imaginable: turtles, frogs, toads, birds, wild cats, rabbits, even geese.
What is it that is sacred about certain places, certain spaces? Kushner says it is the memories of events that occurred in those places, and the sense in which we know that those places have witnessed and remember those events.
I have nearly countless memories of our children growing up here, of long discussions Mary and I have had in front of the fireplace as we contemplated decisions about the future, of the many friends and family who have visited and stayed with us.
I feel different here. I am so much more aware of the past, of the unbelievable grace and love that have been a part of my life. I am more sensitive to the present, realizing intensely what a blessing it to be here together with family and friends, or with only Mary as she paints and I write. I feel more existentially aware of the uncertainly of life, knowing that when I leave here and return in a year many things could be much different in my life or for my family. Yet I also feel a sense of peace and submission to the future, trusting that as God has always been with us in the past, God will continue to be present with us in the future, whatever it holds.
I hope to return to this holy and sacred place many times in the future, and yet I know, someday, it will be somebody else who comes here to remember, and to give thanks. That will include our two children, who have made it clear that if we decide to sell one of our homes, it had better be our place in Phoenix, not Blueberry River Farm.
Last summer, for two weeks, Brian and Sara, grandson Dylan (only two months old), and daughter, Jessi, stayed with us at this cabin. After leaving to return home, Brian wrote the following:
"For 32 years my family has called this cabin home. Through life changes and moves across country, we always come home to its sacred grounds. The trees I once climbed remind me life is a constant process of growth. The deer walking to the river through our yard remind me we can live peacefully with nature. The wild turkeys remind me how abundant this earth and our lives can be when we nurture them.
"This place has always been about family and the joy felt when the car turns the corner in the driveway to discover this place is just how we left it.
"This year is special though because my son and @meltsy10 remind me this place not only holds our family history but our future.
"To teach our child about the value of family, sustainability, of slowing down to think and feel, and of exploring. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for teaching your children well."
