Uproot To Become Rooted Again
On moving home
It looks like we are moving. Chelmsford, the small city which has been my home since my birth 28 years ago, may not be my home much longer. This week, My wife and I have had an offer accepted for a house in Sedbergh, at the foot of the Howgill Fells in Cumbria, North England — 300 miles away. Though colder, windier, and wetter than Essex, the presence of Fells, mountain streams, dippers (a most wonderful bird), and Herdwick Sheep more than compensate for the lower yields my cherished tomato plants are going to suffer.
God willing (and there are lots of potential snags, pitfalls, and obstacles which could scupper our plans), we hope to be up North at the end of the year if not sooner. It is very exciting, though a bit daunting it must be said.
It may seem strange for someone who has written about the importance of roots and being rooted into a community to be talking about a far-flung move like this. It is something I have wrestled with. The danger of being a hypocrite is one of my main fears in life. But I believe that I can justify this move within a larger framework of rootedness.
in her wonderful book Uprooted1 discusses numerous typologies of rootedness, drawing upon the work of other scholars. There are the rooted (those who chose to stay in place), the uprooted (those forcefully removed from place due to crisis), the stuck (those who wish to move from dying or toxic communities but who can’t), and the returners (those who have moved away from rural places, built up capital or experience and decide to return to their rural roots to reinvest their lives in these often forgotten places).I fit into none of these categories. But as an urban dweller who has developed a love for rural places, rural people, and rural churches, I believe (and hope) I fit into an additional category that I have thought up: the rejuvenators or invigorators. These are urban folk who move into rural communities in order to enter into the life and traditions that are already present but are perhaps suffering from decline or stagnation because of rural outmigration or a lack of investment (time, money, energy) from government and social capital. It is our hope to become faithful, sensitive members of the Sedbergh community, understanding its traditions and ways of life, learning and recounting its stories, contributing to its social functions, preserving and conserving its wildlife and beauty. We wish to invest our time, money, and wisdom there — and through a rooted presence, leave it (when our earthly days are done) in a better place than when we arrived.
It is a long road which will require patience, lots of trial and error, and humility on our part — that we fore well know. But we are excited nevertheless (and I am hugely looking forward to living near the Fells — as I am an upland person at heart, drawn to mountains like a moth to a light).
Big life changes come with financial changes, and our finances will be more stretched over the coming months and years. Writing is my main vocation, and I wish for it to become more financially viable and larger proportion of our combined income so that my wife (who is Patron in Chief of Over the Field) can eventually go part-time on her job. In order for this to be the case, I will need more support from readers of Over the Field who want to invest in my words; I will be targeting more pitches for other publications (if I have any editors reading this please reach out); and I will take greater time over my writing to hone and improve my skills, cultivate wisdom and craft my words. I may not publish at the same pace as before but hope that a reduction in quantity will translate into a significant increase in quality.
But one big change I am making straight away is introducing a paywall on everything on Over the Field that is over a year old going forward from now. Originally, I have wanted to keep as much free for all to read as I can. However, writing is not cheap (in terms of time and energy) and I need to make this all more financially viable.2 So, I hope you can understand the compromise in keeping my latest work free but my archive paywalled.
In light of all this, my plea to you, dear reader, is will you consider becoming a paid subscriber of Over the Field? In doing so you will be investing in the formulation of my words as a young agrarian and nature writer who aims to advocate for our Good Farmers and the beautiful places and creatures we live amongst. As well as full access to my archive, a paid subscription will give full access to the online Wendell Berry Reading Group, and full access to all my poetry. Plus, when the move goes ahead, if you are ever in the North of England you are welcome to come and visit us (or even potentially stay with us).
For those who want to go that bit further in supporting my work and becoming involved with the words I write, there is the option of becoming a Patron of Over the Field (£55+). This gives you all the benefits of a paid subscription plus at least two long handwritten letters from me per year and several one-on-one zoom sessions to discuss anything you want relating to the themes I write on.
And even if you can’t or don’t want to become a paid subscriber, I am still immensely grateful that you take the time to read my words and show an interest in what I do. It means so much.
Thank you all for reading and being engaged with Over the Field.
Hadden
You can purchase this book through Bookshop here which also gives me a small commission.
I understand that writing is never going to be fully self-supporting as
has wisely pointed out here. Thus, I hope to get a part-time job when we move either on a farm or in a bookshop (Sedbergh is Englands’s Book Town)
Thank you for this, Hadden. Four years ago my husband and I returned to where I'd spent most of my twenties, a rural and mountainous region that has always felt the most like home for me. I, like you, hoped to be a rejuvenating and invigorating presence. I'm not saying it couldn't have be done, but there's so much we couldn't have foreseen as we made our way back here. The pandemic, the politics, the arrest of my brother and the total community upheaval that happened because of it.
If you had told me four years ago that our "light in the city on a hill" would be almost completely extinguished four years later, that we would be preparing to leave here, limping and glad to leave, I wouldn't have believed you. I needed the bit of hope that I came with, the hope of being both rejuvenated and a rejuvenating presence, the hope of rooting myself deeply in this small post-Christian community and effecting change, even microscopic.
It turns out the change we produced mostly (and unsurprisingly) happened in our own selves. We are more detached from so many of the things that girded us up and gave us meaning before four years ago, and more attached to what it means to simply be faithful to Jesus—no matter where our feet are, no matter where we have found roots or for how long we are rooted there.
I have always had a sort of angsty desire to stay in a place for life and that has never been my portion for various reasons, but I think more than ever before I am recognizing it is not roots in a particular place that make us faithful, but a rootedness in our own place—wherever that place is—that is the measure of faithfulness. This is what much of my last book The Understory is about. How do we be "at peace and in place" (in the words of Berry) when the places around us shift and change?
Anyway, thanks for this. I always appreciate your pieces. Truly.
Congratulations to you and the Patron in Chief of Over the Field! I look forward to your updates on this adventure and wish both of you all the best.