Hearing the fields

For as long as I can remember, when I smelled the scent of grass or rain on the wind, I was overcome with longing to return to a home that had never been mine, “It almost smells like I am home” I found myself thinking. “I can almost feel myself surrounded by fields.” I puzzled over this for years, wondering if I might be longing for my childhood home, which was on the fringe of the suburbs, or for the dairy farm where I worked as a teenager. Neither of those answers brought me peace. I wondered if it was possible to inherit memories and longings from family, the way we inherit mannerisms and temperament. Maybe I was wishing for the home of my grandmother, my namesake, who died when my mother was still a child. I expect that I will never know.

Even though I could make no rational sense of it, I experienced searing beauty followed by loss almost every day. It was a heavy weight to carry. For a while, I tried to stop hearing the power of the sky and the growing things around me because I did not want the grief that followed my awareness. For a while, I stopped praying because in my prayers, I would also see the fields and then fall into sadness.

Now that I have lived in the country for a year, I still don’t know how to respond to the wild power that comes to me in the smell of grass, or to the fields that I see in my prayers. They don’t bring me grief anymore though, only uncertainty and joy.

The other night, I was trying to pray for a friend of mine who is in trouble, and in Quaker fashion, I started out in silent worship, waiting for an awareness of Christ’s love and peace. Instead of hearing God, I heard the fields to the south of my house. They were a riot of growth, covered over with the peace that accompanies most green, growing things. Expansiveness called the fields up towards the darkening sky, and the soil beneath them was alive with tiny movements.

I finally had to give up on praying for my friend and just go outside. Once I was standing in the grass, accompanied by trees, I tried again to pray. This time, I stomped my feet on the ground and sang, and let my arms go where they felt like going. Finally then, I felt the peace of Christ. I prayed for my friend, still shouting and dancing. When I was done, I stood alone in my isolated yard and had the sense that I was being watched by women. I had the sense that they were pleased.