Walking the gravel road in the dark

a hiatus

Vincent van Gogh, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Good morning, readers.

The other night, during high winds and frigid weather, I was driving down our gravel road to meet a friend at the local, rural pub. In the pitch black evening, my headlights lit up a figure walking down the road with a headlamp. “Who is out in this weather?” I wondered.

I caught up, pulled over to see if they were okay, and was not surprised to find my neighbor – who shall remain anonymous but who any other neighbor could guess – looking for branches or trees that the high winds might have blown down onto the road.

No one would have known he was doing this had I not stopped. He was simply tending the hollow and his neighbors quietly – not podcasting about it, not Tweeting about it, probably even finding it silly that I’d be making anything of it here.

But I keep thinking of this encounter, and it has become symbolic to me: Despite delusions created by digital technology and political ideology, our actual responsibility is to the small portion of Creation where we dwell. Most saints of this world, and our world must be full of them, walk the path my neighbor walks – humble, quiet, unseen by the eye of the internet.

***

This post will be my last post for a while, as I’m taking a break from Substack. With the essay series on the home burial of my father complete, along with the growing darkness of the season, it feels like the right time for quieting down.

As a reader, I usually get bored of any writer at some point. Likewise, as a writer, there seems to be a natural ebb and flow to inspiration, and the industrial demand of regular production doesn’t match these cycles of creativity.

I’ll still be writing and working to get some writing into print. To that end, check out the Winter issue of Parabola magazine, which published the first of my Home Burial essays, as well as their spring issue on the Mystery of Time coming out in a couple months.

At some point, I do plan to start posting again at The Oar and the Umbrella, though I’m not sure when. For now, I’ll be learning from my neighbor, trying to give better attention to the nearby world – to my family, to the sheep and chickens we tend, to our many building projects yet to be completed, to our local community as well as our community at St. Elias Orthodox Church.

Starting today, I’ll pause billing on all accounts. The site will still be live, so any subscriber will be able to read any of my past essays. But until further notice, billing will pause for those who are paid subscribers. I am grateful to all readers, but as I begin my hiatus, a special acknowledgement to you who support my work with money. In our strange economy, your generosity stands out and is meaningful to my family.

That’s all for now. See you again down the road.

Peace,
Joe