Catching Up
A quick update and giveaway, with more to come!
Dear readers,
I apologize for my lengthy absence from this space. I took on two part-time jobs this semester—which, it turns out, is a bit too much while also homeschooling three kids and trying to keep up with meals, laundry, writing, cleaning, and the like. I’ve learned my lesson. (Hopefully? I do a terrible job of saying “no” when things are important and worthwhile.)
Because I’ve missed the last few months, I am pausing all paid subscriptions for the next four months, as an apology for billing you for nothing. I am grateful to all of you for supporting my writing and this space, and I never want you to feel as if I’m taking advantage of that generosity. Please forgive me for that.
I have some exciting stuff to share in the weeks and months to come. Quick updates:
I’m in the midst of planning a series of interviews on agriculture and environmentalism with an outside organization, and can’t wait to share more information on that with you all. The interviews should be available to watch live in the months to come. Stay tuned for details.
I’m hoping to put together an Annie Dillard book club + outdoors challenge in the coming month(s). My goal: to foster conversations around the themes of attentiveness and reflection, and to consider the difference between solitude and loneliness. It’ll be open to all, and I hope you’ll join in!
What is it like to return home after almost 15 years of absence?
I’m finding out. The differences between what I remember from my childhood and what currently exists in this landscape are sometimes striking. Sometimes a sense of loss comes with that absence. Other times, it cultivates a sense of potentiality and hope.
One thing is certain: moving back to Idaho feels a lot like moving to a new place, rather than returning to an old one. Aside from the wonderful presence of family, a lot is new and unknown. In that sense, our year in Oxford was an immense gift. We had to build community from scratch overseas. Now we get a chance to practice those habits in Idaho. Things we have found to be true:
Associations matter. It’s hard to build community outside of them. Whether it’s a school, church, non-profit, neighborhood community group, sports team, or chamber of commerce, we need patterns of regular meetups. We need semi-public spaces that make the awkwardness of new encounters and small talk a little less awkward. We need habits of consistency that make it possible to deepen friendships after those initial encounters.
Clubs matter. In Oxford, the Bible studies and study groups I was part of became core groups of dear friends. They’re friends I still think about constantly, friends who took care of us when times were hard. Now that we’re in Idaho, I’ve noticed how much that same format of small clubs tends to grow strong ties. Whether it’s a book club, a Bible study, chess club, or a golf or softball team, the times we spend working on a shared project—alongside a core group of 5-10 other committed people—become opportunities to deepen friendships, to share life together, and to help each other.
Make food for people. The table is such a huge part of our shared experience as humans. It nourishes and challenges us, sculpting our lives in deep ways. Bringing food to a family grappling with a recent illness, loss, or recovery offers solidarity and support—a beneficence that builds ties of indebtedness and love. Inviting people over to make a relaxed Saturday meal invites shared rhythms and joys, happiness amid chaos. I recently invited a family over for dinner on a whim, knowing that my house was still messy and dinner wasn’t even started. They came, and we laughed and talked as we made food together, and all the kids added to the joyous mess. So often, I’ve thought that things have to be perfect in order to invite people in. I keep realizing that people neither need nor want perfection from me. They want fellowship.
Relatedly, don’t wait for people to invite you over, or to take the first step of friendship. This is, admittedly, tiring if you try to do too much. But it’s easy to become passive in a new space, to hope that other people—all living extremely busy lives, already plugged in and surrounded by support systems—will initiate and invite you over. And some people do! I’m always so grateful for those people. But as newcomers to these communities, we can also do our part to reach out and build friendships with the people around us. To not become offended if people don’t reach out, but to do our part to coordinate park dates, dinners, and the like.
“Invest.” “Get plugged in.” “Reach out.” “Put down roots.”
There are all these ideas and metaphors surrounding the process of growing into a community. For what it’s worth, I think some of us (myself included) often try to do too much at once. We want to feel the sense of membership and involvement of a lifelong member in a few months. But most growth is slow and incremental. We can’t do it all overnight. Trying to will only result in burnout. This is a season of both stretching and holding back, reaching out and focusing on our own family and its needs.
Every week, my brother comes over for dinner, or we meet up for trivia night. I’ve gotten to spend quiet days at my sister’s house, helping to hold and care for her twin babies. My mother comes over and watches our two-year-old, and then stays for long chats. A few weeks ago, we went over to my grandfather’s house and celebrated his birthday with him. I get to participate in book clubs and Bible studies with groups of incredibly smart and kind women. Our babysitter often stays for an hour or so after her time watching the kids is finished, and we just sit and talk. The kiddos and I walk to the park, and meet new friends. We’ve hosted a few board game nights with new friends. We are going to a friend’s daughter’s violin recital today.
They’re small things. They also mean the world to us.
In other news, my book is officially two years old!
In celebration, I’d love to share a copy with you. This week, I’ll give away two copies of Uprooted: Recovering the Legacy of the Places We’ve Left Behind.
To enter the giveaway, share your thoughts on investing in and/or building community — either via email or on social media — and I’ll enter your name in the giveaway.
How do we cultivate habits of belonging and support?
How do we become good neighbors?
How can we help make our communities stronger?
I would love to hear — and to share — your thoughts. If you share a post on social media, don’t forget to tag me:
Facebook: @gracyolm
Twitter: @gracyolmstead
Instagram: @gracywrites
I’m so glad to see that you’re OK! It really hit me this week that I hadn’t seen anything from you in a while and realized that both here and on Twitter at least it had been a while.
Was starting to get a little worried.
As “come heres” in our small town where I pastor, we are learning some of the lessons you enumerate here. It’s a process.
Great questions and thoughts Grace, I have appreciated your explorations of place and belonging immensely.
I have already read Uprooted (almost through my second reading now) so don't need to be entered into the competition, but I wanted to share some thoughts to the excellent questions. I have written an article a while back which explains my thinking further (https://overthefield.substack.com/p/ten-theses-on-intergenerational-stewardship)
But one thing I will highlight on "How can we help make our communities stronger?" is to learn the history of the place you live. This fosters connections to the past; facilitates storytelling (which I believe helps bind our communities); and enables one to realise that in building community one is carrying on the work which was started by our forefathers. We are building community on the foundations that they have laid.