Nurturing a Harvest of Life

Since our stay in Hyde Park we have been increasingly intrigued with Eleanor Roosevelt.  Franklin, no doubt, is a course of study all his own, but it is Eleanor on whom we have paused with deepening interest.

Perhaps it is the inspiration of her movement from withdrawn and disregarded little girl to global activist of whom the world took notice.  Perhaps it is her inner capacity to simultaneously comply and grow.  Perhaps it is her resilience in the face of grief, disapproval, disappointment and betrayal.

Or perhaps it is her insatiable interest in the people around her.  She seemed simply to wake and sleep with the conviction that people are, in ways she would never finish discovering, interesting and important, and that whatever decisions were made and actions taken, they should benefit people -- enlarge them, ennoble them, not injure or diminish them in one or another way.  People, it was her conviction, were not simply "employees" or "citizens" or "assets" or statistics.  They were persons with stories, and hopes, and ideas, and sore muscles, and families.  They weren't simply "factors" to take into account; they were people to listen to and learn from and respond to and live alongside.

And she didn't seem to mind that not everyone shared her views.

These days, at this time of year, if you drive across Iowa and vast areas of surrounding states you pass through oceanic fields of corn and soy beans, full and swelling and prosperous.  Other places the crop may be wheat or rice or some other grain, but the farms have a similar vast and orderly design.  Row upon row, acre after acre, stalk after stalk or bush after bush.  Seen from the highway it is a sea of undifferentiated production -- beautiful in its own way; carefully and scientifically engineered for maximum result in minimal space in minimal time; the agricultural version of the industrial factory and assembly line, and the corporate floor of cubicles.  There is something crop-like about the way we have come to order ourselves, each other, and our activities.  We have strategized and maximized efficiencies, but I wonder how much we have improved our lot.

Eleanor seemed to comprehend that when we view people as though they were grain -- row after tightly plantred and nameless row -- something like life itself is lost.  She chose, instead, to travel around -- deep into mines, and around people's tables; into hospitals and onto farms, learning people's name and listening to what they had to say, and allowing herself to be affected and shaped by the experience.

People as persons instead of grains in a field.

And in so doing, it seem to me, nourishing herself and them in return.
Something like an organic farm.
And in so doing, enabling both to stay alive.