The field before construction began.
My heart is heavy as I write this post. I’m looking out my back window and see mass destruction in what used to be a beautiful field that was a sanctuary for wildlife and a peaceful haven for those of us whose houses back up to it.
I’ve lived in this home for five years, and my husband and I have always felt so grateful that this was our view. We loved having this tranquil space that seemed to go on and on right in our own backyard. It created a buffer between us and the world – a place to be one with nature and ground ourselves. We knew that the day would eventually come when this view would become something very different – since planning for a subdivision has been in the works for quite some time, but it’s still a saddening shock to have a front-row seat to this chaos.
Construction began one week ago. We are now awakened each morning by the sound of bulldozers and banging and beeping. We have constant headaches from this never-ending noise that goes well into the evening. My husband’s outside “office” is no longer an option, and he’s had to move into my office for the time being (on the other side of the house) since even his inside office is too close to the noise.
I have been walking around in a daze of anger and sadness and powerlessness. I have cried many, many tears. And I have worked myself into such a tizzy that I have become physically ill with a fever and a sore throat, which certainly doesn’t feel good at all. And what I’m realizing, even in the midst of this frustration, is that this is one of those real-life situations where I get to put into action all that I’ve been theorizing about and teaching for years: I can focus on what isn’t working or what is working; I can appreciate all that I am still grateful for in my life; I can choose how I will respond to this situation; and I get to decide how and where I will find my own peace and happiness.
I’ve been so sad about the geese – my sweet friends who have lived in the field for many generations. I’ve worried that they wouldn’t be able to cope, and I wanted to somehow prevent them from feeling any pain.
Two of our friends before construction started.
Yesterday, after the workers had left and we were sitting in our backyard enjoying the silence from all of the machinery, I looked over and saw about 20 geese sitting on the top of one of the dirt piles that had just been created. I was sickened by this scene of what I considered to be devastation, and my eyes started to fill with tears. But then I noticed that the geese didn’t seem sad at all. They were pecking around and finding the seeds that had most likely just been brought to the surface. They still had their families, their field (even if it looked a bit different), food, and water. They still had their home (at least for now). They weren’t concerned with where this construction would lead – with whether they would be able to cope with the destruction in the coming months or in the coming years – with whether they would have a home at all once it was all paved over and built on. They were just there – enjoying their time – just like any other day. They were focusing on what was working rather than what wasn’t.
And that is the lesson and insight that I am able to pull out of this upsetting situation. Yes, I’m upset. And yes, I’m sad. (Both of which are completely normal and understandable.) But, in order to take care of myself and my body and not continue to spiral into an even darker place, I’m going to do my best to take my cue from these beautiful, wise birds and focus on everything that is right in my world in this moment – because there certainly is a lot of positive energy surrounding me always.
Life doesn’t always go our way. Certainly not how we expect it to. And maybe that’s a good thing – because it’s in these moments where things aren’t “perfect” that we get to go a little deeper and find the kernels of good. We get to witness our own reactions, honor them, and then decide if we would like to change them moving forward. We get to learn so much about ourselves when things aren’t going “right.” That’s where the growth comes in. And I am thankful for that.
Do I wish that this were all happening differently and that the field could stay a field forever? Of course. But this is my reality, and I want to do whatever I can to honor my own needs and find some happiness within this current situation.
That feels right for me.
If you’re in the midst of your own hard situation, I hope that you’ll also be able to find even a tiny bit of peace and wisdom within it.
Hugs,
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Hi Jodi
My heart goes out to you. I lived in California in the early 70’s when all of the orchards were being cut down to make room for housing developments and shopping centers.
When I moved to Pennsylvania in the 80’s, one of the things that I was looking forward to was moving back to a place where the development had already taken place decades ago. Boy, was I wrong!!! In the 30 years we have been here I cannot tell you how much open space has been gobbled up by development all around us. My heart has been broken so many times as I watched beautiful trees and fields destroyed.
I think that your approach is the only way, but, still, it’s so sad.
Here’s a really big hug.
Qatana
Oh Jodi, my eyes welled with tears as I read your words of sadness and anger. We too live on our little piece of paradise, in a beautiful custom built home, which my husband has poured thousands of hours, dollars and literally blood, sweat and tears into making our beloved sanctuary. We are on an acre of woods filled with majestic 100 ft. trees, a little stream, countless birds, squirrels, possum, raccoon, bats, and even the occasional owl, wolf and fox. We love being here more than any other place on Earth. And several months ago, we woke to hot pink dots spray painted on dozens of trees on the acre of property that borders us. And discovered a “land action” notice mailed to one. We quickly got online to investigate and were stunned to see plans for an 18 condo development to be built. We have gone through so many emotions over these months,just waiting for the horrible destruction you described to begin. I cannot even imagine the sadness and heartbreak we will experience watching this oasis of nature disappear so violently. We finally decided to just take it as it comes, (what choice do we even have, really?), knowing/accepting that we have no control over land that doesn’t belong to us and we will decide as it unfolds if we can even handle continuing to live here. I wish you strength and continued hope as you go through this, and know that your words have touched me and that I will likely re-read them for strength and connection with someone who is feeling the same when I get to the places you have already been through this situation. I just don’t understand how so many people can value money over life. But those people don’t see trees and weeds and rocks and ferns as being living things. *sigh* I keep trying to hold in my heart that the people who will eventually live in these condos will feel blessed by having a roof over their heads and a home to call their own. Much love to you and Dan, thank you for sharing.
Jodi, so sorry you are having this experience. Also, so delighted that you opened your heart to the lesson of the geese. Many things happen in life that are a loss of something we love, hold dear and presents us with changes we experience, but are out of our control. Grief takes many forms and holding loss lightly yet full is necessary. I was reminded of our experience in a house we lived in years ago. When we first moved there we were surrounded by lovely wooded area. We knew that at some point other houses would be built near us. One day we awakened to the sound of a bulldozer as it plowed the trees in the lot behind our house. The trees were not cut down, the walnut wood was not used for any purpose. It was hauled off to a “landfill”. We mourned the horror of the lovely trees, the loss of the peaceful woods, the loss of homes for animals, birds, wild flowers. As a part of grief, we were sad, angry, resentful. We wished we could have purchased the surrounding wooded lots as a reserve. The house was built, the lot was landscaped in a manner that was actually quite lovely. A family moved in and became our friends. They had no idea what had happened to the lot before their house was built. More lots were bulldozed, more houses were built. The Great Horned Owls that nested in the woods moved elsewhere. We missed our view of their yearly child rearing, the first flights. Finally we, too, went elsewhere. We now live in a more rural area and being a less money valued land, we were able to buy a buffer zone. Yes, changes will take place and actually have since our moved 18 years ago. It is OK, it is necessary to grieve loss of any sort, not just the death of a person or a beloved animal. To this day, I cringe at the sound of a bulldozer and remember the death of “our woods”, even if we knew it did not belong to us, even if we knew the woods was doomed. Hugs and love!
Hey,Jodi
Sending you a warm embrace to hold that tender heart that feels the very pulse of the Earth and all our relations (yes, for me it’s all those beautiful creatures, trees, plants, waters, etc.) I read somewhere recently that if mankind was removed from the Earth, within 50 years all that is this beautiful ecosystem would flourish. Whereas, if even one creature becomes extinct because of our lack of respect, this will eventually lead to our very own demise. If that doesn’t put things in perspective and allow us to experience humility and gratitude for the gift of life here, not sure what will.
Have been following the very same effort you are with neighbors turning beautiful tree filled acres into ‘sunshine’ lots. The noise of the saws, the smell of smoke and the gutwrenching sound of beautiful trees crashing to the ground is a challenge to turn to soul (not to mention the panic and distress of birds who are nesting in those very trees, animals who take shelter in their roots and shade, the insects who hum and thrive in the natural meadows soon to be paved with cement and just the sad unawareness of our own kind).
So I say to you Dear Kindred Spirit, “Stay the course of Peace”. Your voice is heard and together we can all make a difference. Thank you for baring your heart…. love flows to your from mine! Blissings and Blessings, Dawn
Dear Jodi,
First, I enjoy your thoughtful columns very much.
I feel for you very deeply. The issue of “change” continues to be such a difficult challenge for all of us whether it be in health, employment and career, relationships, etc. Notwithstanding all of the wisdom about “being with it,” releasing it, transcending it — it remains a common theme of what we would all like to avoid. The best I can do is offer my prayers and love that the pain of the situation be surpassed, and that all affected (including the beautiful geese) adapt and thrive. I have found that while it is incumbent on me to do all I can in response to the situation, there is a degree of joy and happiness knowing others are thinking positively about me and sending love. Many Blessings to you, your husband, and your many furry friends.
Michael
Thank you so much to each of you for your love and for sharing your stories. While I wish that none of us have to go through this, it does bring me comfort to feel heard and seen and loved – and to be surrounded by others who understand how important nature is. Love to you all!
Hi Jodi – the pain we feel when Nature is destroyed is very real. I experienced something similar a few years ago when the forest behind our home was demolished to make way for other houses. With each thud of the trees that fell, I felt physically ill as though I might be sick to my stomach. My daughter, then 4, was screaming and shouting at the excavators, “Don’t you know there’s God in those trees?” It broke my heart. I do wish for those trees back, and all the beautiful wildlife that lived in there. But you are right – I had to find the good in it. Hearing my little girl, though she was in pain, acknowledge God in that way was breathtaking. Another opportunity for me to learn from her.
P.S. I haven’t stopped by in awhile and I am so happy to be back!
Those geese, so smart! So adaptable. Yes I feel your rage and pain and empathize, and yet…. seeing — recognizing — admitting the good in everything is a freaking miracle. Thank you!