Synthetic Men, Uprooted

Tolkien once remarked to me that the feeling about home must have been quite different in the days when a family had fed on the produce of the same few miles of country for six generations, and that perhaps this was why they saw nymphs in the fountains and dryads in the wood -- they were not mistaken for there was in a sense a real (not metaphorical) connection between them and the countryside. What had been earth and air & later corn, and later still bread, really was in them. We of course who live on a standardized international diet (you may have had Canadian flour, English meat, Scotch oatmeal, African oranges, & Australian wine to day) are really artificial beings and have no connection (save in sentiment) with any place on earth. We are synthetic men, uprooted. The strength of the hills is not ours. -- C.S. Lewis, Collected Letters

This past weekend I was raking leaves in my yard -- I know, I know, how very domestic of me -- and found myself daydreaming of dirt and growing things. So I bought an envelope of radish seeds at the grocery store. I'd like to plant them, although I'm concerned they won't make it to maturity. Do raccoons like radishes? If they do, it's a hopeless endeavor. When the sun goes down around here, the out-of-doors becomes a veritable 'Where The Wild Things Are" cast party. Last night, before I drifted off, I watched out the window at a parade of furry tails going up and down the steps. From what I can tell, our house is one big jungle gym for the neighborhood Bandit Tribe.

In any case, I am feeling like I could use a little dose of the strength of the hills. And something fresh for my salad wouldn't be so bad either.