Rolling Acres of Urban Pasture

There was a farmer with land that had been in the family for years and generations.  Every day he walked the land with his boys.  He checked on the pasture.  He watched each one of his cattle.  He knew them by name.  He checked the brightness of their coat and the brightness of their eye, so he could tell if they were less than at their peak.  He repaired fences.  He drained wet spots and pulled noxious weeds.  He tried slow and careful experiments here and there, introducing a new clover in one field, growing chestnuts in another with grazing in the understory.  But his fathers had created deep rich pasture so he was slow and careful to modernize too much on every whim of theory.  He milked and drank the rich cream with his boys.  He told them stories as they did their rounds.  “This is where we went ice sliding the year the creek ran over.  That dead stump there?  That’s where Grandpa killed a bear.  No, not the bearskin by the hearth, that’s a different bear.”  He educated them that way, and by being with him as he did his work.  They were also taught by the storms and the sun and the stars at night.

There was a lord with a small city that had been in the family for years and generations.  Every day he walked the city with his boys.  He checked on the roads.  He smelled for sewer or pollution.  He talked to the shopkeepers and police and families.  He knew them by name.  He knew their houses and their way of dress and could tell if they were less than at their peak.  He would step in and direct traffic if he saw a snarl.  If the kids at the school seemed restless and quarrelsome, he would declare a holiday and put on a parade.  He found lifeless areas of empty buildings and rebuilt them for families and little shops and home industries.  He did experiments here and there.  A neighborhood nuclear generator over here.  A community managed homestead as the center of an HOA over here.  But his fathers had built a happy and prosperous people so he was slow to modernize too much on every whim of theory.  He collected his taxes and decorated his ancestral home with beautiful art made by his own people.  He told his boys stories as they did their rounds.  “This is where your great great grandfather–our founder– and his neighbors confronted a gang.  This is where we had the wrestling exhibition when I was a young man and our city stood off every challenger.”  He educated them that way, and by being with him as he did his work.  They were also taught by the storms and the sun and the swirl of human life healthily lived around them.  And even by the stars, because this was a town that cherished its darkness at night, and where everyone was safe even without lights.