An Inconvenient Truth

I have to say that as I have progressed onward into the book I have become less and less enchanted with the author's seemingly idealistic campaign to reclaim the purification of his soul by fleeing the evils of modern society. I really think the post by fbw reflects a lot of what I have begun to notice: that this is not about escaping the grasp of modern life in order to enhance one's self but rather an attempt to add another story to his repertoire. I truly feel there is nothing more behind this excursion into 1900. I was watching some show several months back (can't recall what the show happened to be) but there was character who was basically a collector of personal stories. He would pass from one experience to the next claiming to have uncovered some insightful meaning from each one: patience from a year studying amongst the Monks of Tibet, wisdom from the Spanish priests, etc. However, by the end of the show it has become apparent that this guy is actually caught up more in the romanticism of his stories and that he has gained very little comprehension of his own character. The other “locals” on the show soon discover that they have more profound experiences even though they have stayed within the same county most of their life. This is not to advocate any xenophobic attitudes of small town life, but I feel very much as if Mr. Ward just wanted another story to add to his collection. As the story has progressed I have felt this disposition increasingly growing. They want to appear to be this “cool” couple to their New York friends and this pragmatic family who endured the bright lights of the city and escaped it to return to where they truly belong. I am just not buying it. I do want to note that I think that what cwb stated is so very important in that no matter what I say, I do have to commend them for taking action. It is easy for me to sit and here type this out in my air conditioned house and cast judgment when a part of me truly envies what they have done. I just find it hard to believe that the author’s purpose is for anything beyond writing a book to make more money and gain another story that, although unique in nature, has been done with the wrong intentions.

With all of that being said, I actually feel strongly connected to the couple’s story and I am enjoying the read. Despite what I perceive to be the author’s disingenuous motives I feel that the story does convey extremely well how disconnected we really are from our recent ancestors. I am baffled at the fact that it is virtually impossible for an average couple to completely abandon the present day and live as our great grandparents did. It seems as though it would be so hard for a modern person to live one hundred years ago and it makes me wonder what my grandchildren will think of the era I lived in.

One particular passage captured my attention recently. I am over a hundred pages into the book so this might be a little ahead of some of you but I do not feel it will detract anything from your future readings by mention this now. At one point the author introspectively notes that he despite his best efforts to flee the stresses of modern living he has only succeeded in recycling them for new stresses which in many ways seem far more bothersome. He points at that, yes, in today’s society you have debts and deadlines but you never worry about the ability to provide food for your family. If someone is starving in America today it is largely, if not entirely, due to their own stupidity. Any family will have numerous places to reach out for the ability to survive. One hundred years ago it was a very real possibility that your family could run short of food, or a simple cold could wipe out an entire generation of ancestry. I remember distinctly a conversation that I had with Leigh’s great-uncle one time a few years back. I asked, ”what is the biggest difference between the time when you were my age and now?” His reply was surprisingly short and simple; he said the only real difference as far as he could tell is that the pace of life has changed. People have lost all patience with everything: business, nature, religion, and even their fellow man. He said that nowadays everything is expected to be done with great haste, whereas in his youth people appreciated what virtue there is in waiting. As I try patiently to wait for this baby to stop crying, I wonder what else I have to do that is so important. Yet for years now I feel that I have wrongly labeled patience as laziness and I am beginning to see what it is the author claims to have set out in search of among the Virginia farmlands.