This morning the sun is shining in a blue sky and the air is clean and crisp as I set out on my daily constitutional. Today I take no detours, but march along with purpose, for there are things to be done and there are only so many hours in the day. When I reach the Hennepin Bridge I notice something that was not there yesterday.
At first glance, it appears to be a person huddling beside the bridge's stone pilaster. But no, it is merely the residuum of a person, the evidence that a person has been here and left their accoutrements behind, their detritus. These ragged articles surely belonged to a homeless person, perhaps they still belong to that person, who perhaps will be coming back for them. They have been set down in such a neat and precise manner, it does seem as though they were set down only momentarily. And yet, why leave articles you value in so visible and so public a place? Only a few steps away, and the articles might have been placed behind a bush. Somehow, I have a feeling the owner of these items will not be coming back for them. Perhaps the items have served their purpose and were simply ready to be discarded.
How often do we simply, and promptly, discard the things in our lives that have served their purpose? Moreover, how often do we cling to things that actually have no purpose at all? This gets at one of the motivations for my relocation to this island, for my 'discarding' of a reasonably well sized suburban home and many of the possessions it contained, in favor of a 600-sq. ft. nook--a mere hobbit hole, as I have come to call it. I wanted to minimize the possessions which I owned, or rather, which owned me. I wanted to be free of the physical and emotional dependencies such possessions engendered, able to relocate again if I chose, or simply to travel, at a moment's notice. I didn't want to have to worry about lawns that needed mowing, mail that needed to be held, pets that needed to be boarded, and so many other obligatory but self-imposed burdens that prevented me from living the kind of life that was more compatible with my most deeply-held desires. And so here I am, on this island, with only the possessions and company about which/whom I care the most.
And yet, I would not want to shed everything and be reduced to living on the streets. Who left this bundle here? And why? Does this person sleep under a roof at night, on something soft, with a companion who cares for him/her?
As I complete my circuit of the island, I snap this picture of a neighbor's yard, and the tepee that reminds me of people who once lived on this island, who had even less than 600-sq. ft. in which to live, sleep and house their few possessions.
The Dakota, and later the Ojibwe--their mortal enemies who displaced them--had both lived on the island. The Dakota called Nicolett Island wita waste, which meant "beautiful island." I believe that my neighbor has erected and maintained this tepee in tribute to these former residents of the island, and it has stood on the island for many years. I myself remember it being here ten years ago, when I worked nearby. How long would I have survived living in a tepee a couple of centuries ago, when I'm not sure I could live even a week without Netflix? It is good to ponder, occasionally, how much we have today, how much we need, and how much we could truly live without. I am grateful to this beautiful island for helping me consider these things, and for being such a pleasant place in which to do so.
Life flows on, in and around us--one can carry only so much before feeling overburdened, before we realize that all we really need is a place to rest, warm and dry and roomy enough for two.
At first glance, it appears to be a person huddling beside the bridge's stone pilaster. But no, it is merely the residuum of a person, the evidence that a person has been here and left their accoutrements behind, their detritus. These ragged articles surely belonged to a homeless person, perhaps they still belong to that person, who perhaps will be coming back for them. They have been set down in such a neat and precise manner, it does seem as though they were set down only momentarily. And yet, why leave articles you value in so visible and so public a place? Only a few steps away, and the articles might have been placed behind a bush. Somehow, I have a feeling the owner of these items will not be coming back for them. Perhaps the items have served their purpose and were simply ready to be discarded.How often do we simply, and promptly, discard the things in our lives that have served their purpose? Moreover, how often do we cling to things that actually have no purpose at all? This gets at one of the motivations for my relocation to this island, for my 'discarding' of a reasonably well sized suburban home and many of the possessions it contained, in favor of a 600-sq. ft. nook--a mere hobbit hole, as I have come to call it. I wanted to minimize the possessions which I owned, or rather, which owned me. I wanted to be free of the physical and emotional dependencies such possessions engendered, able to relocate again if I chose, or simply to travel, at a moment's notice. I didn't want to have to worry about lawns that needed mowing, mail that needed to be held, pets that needed to be boarded, and so many other obligatory but self-imposed burdens that prevented me from living the kind of life that was more compatible with my most deeply-held desires. And so here I am, on this island, with only the possessions and company about which/whom I care the most.
And yet, I would not want to shed everything and be reduced to living on the streets. Who left this bundle here? And why? Does this person sleep under a roof at night, on something soft, with a companion who cares for him/her?
As I complete my circuit of the island, I snap this picture of a neighbor's yard, and the tepee that reminds me of people who once lived on this island, who had even less than 600-sq. ft. in which to live, sleep and house their few possessions.
The Dakota, and later the Ojibwe--their mortal enemies who displaced them--had both lived on the island. The Dakota called Nicolett Island wita waste, which meant "beautiful island." I believe that my neighbor has erected and maintained this tepee in tribute to these former residents of the island, and it has stood on the island for many years. I myself remember it being here ten years ago, when I worked nearby. How long would I have survived living in a tepee a couple of centuries ago, when I'm not sure I could live even a week without Netflix? It is good to ponder, occasionally, how much we have today, how much we need, and how much we could truly live without. I am grateful to this beautiful island for helping me consider these things, and for being such a pleasant place in which to do so.Life flows on, in and around us--one can carry only so much before feeling overburdened, before we realize that all we really need is a place to rest, warm and dry and roomy enough for two.
D.E.S.
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