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Resumo

Along the way, as we get older, as T. S. Eliot writes in his poem, 'The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated/Of dead and living.' Lately, I have been spending more of my time at the farm. This is the farm that has belonged to my family for generations, since first being settled by my great-grandparents fleeing the potato famine in Ireland, and it is the farm of my birth and early years. Although it would be easy to think of the farm more in the past tense than in the present, I have come to know the place in present terms. Solace is found in this place, here and now. Even among the ruins, in a world becoming stranger, and a pattern more complicated.

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