Feet on the Ground

 

By Marilyn Moore

Two weeks ago today I was in the Cotswolds, a rural area of England known as the Fairy Tale Villages.  We were beginning our first walk on the Cotswolds Trail, a part of the National Trust that assures public paths through private property in this very picturesque part of the country.  We began in the little village of Marshfield and walked a little over four miles to St. Catherine’s Court.  The path led us along fields where barley had just been harvested and through meadows and pastures where sheep and cattle grazed.  We crossed fence lines and boundaries through an interesting variety of gates, designed to let people through, while keeping animals in their home pasture.  The terrain was flat in some places, rolling in others, secure footing in some places and a little less so in others.  Wild berries were a welcome roadside snack.  There was sun, and shade, a walk by a creek near the end, then a steep uphill climb to the chapel at St. Catherine’s Court.  Walks later that day would bring the total miles walked to a little over six.  

Subsequent days were similar, each day including five to seven miles of walking public paths on and through private property…fields, meadows, pastures, forests.  One day was rainy, the others, clear and sunny.  There were twenty people in our group; I was among the slower walkers.  It was not a race.  It was an opportunity to see this beautiful little corner of God’s creation up close and personal.  I realized as I walked at my ambling pace that I was experiencing, through feet on the ground, the farms and small villages in a way that I would not have done had we just driven through it.

There’s a feel for the ground when you step on it, when I walked on soil that had been turned, tilled, planted, harvested, and let go fallow before the next crop, a time for the soil to rest, to replenish itself.

There’s a feel in the meadow, with grass growing and grass dying, harboring the tiniest of flowers and the tender new shoots, highly sought by the sheep who were grazing nearby.  What looks like an even carpet of green isn’t when you walk on it; there are bumps and divots everywhere, evidence of grazing that slows my pace.

There’s a feel in the forest, under a canopy of trees that have grown for decades, a trail that has had fallen leaves and berries ground into it by countless walkers.  Feet on the ground, a literal connection with that time and that place.

This morning I walked one of my neighborhood walking routes, a little over two miles, noticing again the feel of feet on the ground…the bumps I know to anticipate where concrete has buckled, the cracks and uneven spots from Nebraska ice and snow, freezing, expanding, and thawing.  I notice the first of fall campaign yard signs start to appear.  I cheer the new plantings in neighbors’ yards that have made it through the hot/cold rainy/dry summer.  I marvel at a new garden spot, created where a huge tree had been removed a few months ago.  Feet on the ground, I know my neighborhood in a way I did not before Covid forced me to walk outside, instead of heading for the fitness center as I had done for so many years.  Feet on the ground, a visceral, physical connection with this time and this space. 

Farmers who walk fence lines, ranchers who ride ranges, outdoor guides who lead hikers over hill and dale, up and down mountain trails, day laborers who harvest strawberries and lettuce and other crops by hand, work that is hot and tiring and hard on body and soul, all know the land in a way the rest of us do not, because they are walking, feet on the ground.  They know the time and space in which they stand.

The term “grounded” can also mean that upon which a person stands, a belief, a value, a core…something so deeply held it reminds the person of where they stand in space and time.  At a memorial service a few days ago for a long-time friend, it was clear from the remarks of the speakers that this person was grounded by scholarship, by relationships, by a sense of social justice, by family, by faith.  So grounded by these principles, or values, that most of his life could be seen through these lenses.  Regardless of the path, his metaphorical feet were grounded by this core of beliefs.

As I watched the two political conventions this year, I found myself thinking about the values and beliefs held by candidates for office.  Like many of you, I suspect, I’ve come to believe that choosing a candidate based solely on their policy stances is difficult – remarkable as it is to me, no one agrees with my stance on every policy question.  There are some big policy issues for me, like voting rights, climate change, access to healthcare, public education, and I look at those, but even within those, there are nuances of positions – and I also know that in the messy process of governance, compromises are necessary in order to get things done, and policy absolutes become a little less certain.  

So instead of looking only a policy position, I’ve started thinking about what core values and beliefs ground a candidate.  What is the ground on which they stand, that will mark their decisions in this time and place? Will they be grounded in a fundamental belief that all persons are worthy of respect and dignity?  Are they grounded in hope, or despair?  Will they hold fast to the messy democratic principle that all voices must be heard?  Will they seek to include the least, the lost, the forgotten?   

And with their feet firmly grounded, will they also lift their eyes, and their soul, to the heavens to see all that might be possible?  

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