Root Yourself In Real


“In Nature Nothing Exists Alone.”

- Rachel Carson


Found this beauty last fall hunting the steep hollers of east Kentucky. Those old, dark mountains and their mysterious ways have taught me so much over the years. They’ve helped me heal, given me strength and kept me grounded. It’s why I have such a deep love and reverence for them. 

They stand in stark contrast to another place I’ve grown to respect and learn from - the harsh, open prairie of North Dakota. Both couldn’t be more different, yet are connected by their quiet solitude and the strong reverence for the land it takes to survive there. To live in either means your livelihood comes from the land, something that binds you to it in ways many the days simply haven’t had the chance to understand.

It’s easy to sit behind a computer or a phone and criticize the people, ways of life and kind of hard work that sustain these places, especially when you’re fed by a simulation and don’t have the hands on knowledge or experience to back it up. I see it time and time again, people becoming so caught up in agendas or what they’ve been told to the point where it becomes religion - a dangerous thing because then you lose all capacity to question, be curious or think for yourself. 

Right now our world is full of lies and narratives perpetuated by those that want to keep you complacent. Ever wonder what’s really going on? Ask the ones that have their hands in the earth and her bounty every single day - the farmers, the ranchers, the oil field workers, the tradesmen - not the politicians, the commentators or the scholars that are often so isolated and out of touch with the world around them. Be open to conversation and talk to those that are in it, live it and breathe it every single day.

Root yourself in real and you’ll find the biggest lie you’ve ever been told is that you’re somehow separate from it all. The land will always give you the answers and knowledge you seek, you just have to be open enough to listen. 

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An Old King of Appalachia

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We Are Not The Polite People That Live In Poems