Every time I walk this land, I find more signs of those who lived here before me. The barbed wire was no surprise when Ed and I bought the place in 1994...
Wow, this one really hit me hard for some reason. Thanks for it, Barbara. There is a particular sorrow in pulling barbed wire from the earth… not just the labor of it, the blood drawn by rusted thorns, but the weight of all it has held back, all it has wounded. This land remembers. The trees have swallowed strands of it, as if trying to digest what men left behind. The wire does not belong here, yet it persists, a relic of old violences: the herons driven off, the cows bewildered at their new boundaries, the trenches and camps where it was twisted into instruments of suffering.
We are always fencing something in or out it seems. Livestock, enemies, our own restless hearts. The wire is a confession: we would rather lacerate than trust. And now it lies half-buried, a rusting snare for the unwary, as though the earth itself is reluctant to let go of our cruelty.
To pull it up, coil by coil, is a small penance. The work is lonely until you feel the ghosts gathering, not just the herons and the cattle, but the prisoners, the rioters, the ones who learned too late how sharp a line can be. The wire cutters in your hands are a feeble redemption, but they are something. You cannot undo the past, only wrestle with its remnants, and hope the land, in time, will forget what we have done to it.
May all of our footing be supple enough to destabilize the barbs upon which we trod. Thank you for continuing to inspire me to not only look where I step but how I step. With every step we very likely will somehow encounter beauty with the ugly. May it be so.
Wow, this one really hit me hard for some reason. Thanks for it, Barbara. There is a particular sorrow in pulling barbed wire from the earth… not just the labor of it, the blood drawn by rusted thorns, but the weight of all it has held back, all it has wounded. This land remembers. The trees have swallowed strands of it, as if trying to digest what men left behind. The wire does not belong here, yet it persists, a relic of old violences: the herons driven off, the cows bewildered at their new boundaries, the trenches and camps where it was twisted into instruments of suffering.
We are always fencing something in or out it seems. Livestock, enemies, our own restless hearts. The wire is a confession: we would rather lacerate than trust. And now it lies half-buried, a rusting snare for the unwary, as though the earth itself is reluctant to let go of our cruelty.
To pull it up, coil by coil, is a small penance. The work is lonely until you feel the ghosts gathering, not just the herons and the cattle, but the prisoners, the rioters, the ones who learned too late how sharp a line can be. The wire cutters in your hands are a feeble redemption, but they are something. You cannot undo the past, only wrestle with its remnants, and hope the land, in time, will forget what we have done to it.
Thank you, Barbara.
Grace, Beauty, and Wisdom to you.
May all of our footing be supple enough to destabilize the barbs upon which we trod. Thank you for continuing to inspire me to not only look where I step but how I step. With every step we very likely will somehow encounter beauty with the ugly. May it be so.
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨. Thank You!!!
Always a happy jolt when I see Barbara Brown Taylor has written something new. Thank you. You never disappoint.
Lovely writing. The patient, hard work of clearing barbed wire from the land, from ourselves.
Thank you for the reminder-a little bit at a time, but keep moving forward!
What a lovely story! Thank you!
Hooray for small acts of faithfulness. (I just finished rereading Holy Envy, so this seems like a fitting coda.)
Thank you for the reflection on dealing with barbed wire. I find I am almost immediately thinking of the metaphors that it is birthing.
That is a very interesting story about the barbed wire. I am a big Nature lover and hate it when anything harms flora or fauna.
Beautiful. Poignant.
Former farm girl here….. I’ve had many bloody encounters with barbed ware! Good luck getting rid of it. A worthy project.
I just love your work!
Thanks, Barbara.
Baffling barriers,
foolish fences, wicked walls.
Blockades, dams do harm.
...
Hospitality.
Unlocked gates, doors, minds, hearts, lands.
May evil fence fail.