People in Ann Arbor, who know me as a full-time doctoral student -- or perhaps as their Anthropology instructor -- are often bewildered when I announce that I live in the country. I can tell by the blank looks or even by the curious responses. Why did you decide to move, they want to know. How can I begin to articulate the meaning of the transformation I have undertaken in my life recently? It is so much greater than I could possibly convey in a casual conversation. The explanations for me, besides, seem to be captured in the senses far more readily than in words. In fact, the departure is
about the distance from language. (
Words, words, words. . .)
It's captured, for instance, in the smell and concentrated pulse of heat and the ambient glow from the wood fire in the fire place . . .
And my fingers rediscovering dough. . .
. . . and the smell of homemade quiche baking in the oven.
. . . for instance.
. . . for instance.
2 comments:
when I was unemployed for a spell (about 6 weeks), I took a lot of comfort in making my own bread. I think it was partly the comfort and smell of fresh-baked bread, but also the idea of providing for myself, even if I didn't have a job.
mmm . . .yes, i also love making bread. i haven't bothered to bake it from scratch, including the kneading, in an awfully long time. i know what you mean about this sense of autonomy that comes with baking . . . powerful. and yummy.
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