A Problem of Place

Have you ever wandered into an old schoolhouse?  Built before Common Cores and New Deals…it’s a wonder they learned at all, isn’t it?

Imagine approaching this solitary building, entering its single room.  Slowly, you walk wooden floors worn smooth by a century of children’s shoes.  Sitting now, at desks meticulously inscribed by youngsters’ blades, history has become a vibrant present of smells, sensations, and questions.  It kindles an imaginative awareness of place, of our context in the drama of humanity.

I recently heard Annette Kirk describe such a place, its history, its significance in the community of Mecosta.  I was struck in that moment by a great respect for local history and customs.  At the same time, it became quite clear how little the modern man knows of his local heritage.  Anthony Esolen, in his book Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child, describes this dilemma of disconnection.

“For just as we have nearly lost the capacity to weep a tear of gratitude at our nation’s birthday, so we have lost the local geography of life.  In every sense of the word, from the homestead to the town, from the state to the nation, from the distant past to the last lights darkening in the west, we do not honor our father and our mother” (121).

We stand at a unique position in history.  Detached from local communities, homes have become temporary centers of hyper-individualized activity.  We focus on self-inflicted busyness and instant gratification, with little awareness of time, place, or purpose.  Terms such as family and neighbor have slowly become fluid, defined at will or convenience.

If we truly want to conserve, to preserve and build upon the greatness of generations past, we must not forget the communities within which they grew.  Rather, a sense of local memory is critical to any form of continuity and tradition.