Posted by Jack Galloway
My name is Jack Galloway. I am the son of the authors of this blog and I have been asked to contribute an entry. I have found the role of guest blogger a much harder one than I had anticipated.
Though I now count myself a proud member of the landed gentry of Shelby County, I can but imagine what life is actually like on those thirty-some-odd acres off of Dover Road. In the city, when I wake to the wretched cacophony of construction, garbage trucks, and car alarms, I long for the profound silence of the countryside. As I go about my day, my reverie continues. The pigeons and house sparrows become murmuring doves and chipper songbirds, and the ugly mugs of the pedestrians passing below my window are like so many daffodils and tulips.
|A view down Mont Royal Est, Jack's street in Montreal|
As I dream, I am beset with the age-old inner conflict between homesickness and wanderlust. This dilemma is not new to me, but something about my parents’ living on a farm lends it greater urgency. Perhaps it’s the obvious contrast of city-living and pastorialism.
For me, home is now more that a house and its inhabitants; it is a living thing that changes with the passing weeks, especially now that it’s spring. Every entry on this blog details some new growth or change—the blooming of the daffodils, the advent of the honeybees, the greening of the countryside and the gradual settling in of the house and its surroundings by its inhabitants—so much to be seen and felt for such a quiet corner of the earth.
Surrounded by the great goings-on of the city, I feel like I am missing out on something even grander. My longing is poignant, certainly, but it is also joyous. To have such a place as my new home, peopled by such lovely, loving people as my mother and father, is a blessing, and the thought of returning home will comfort me wherever I go.
|Jack and Ed enjoying a cafe au lait at Jean Talon Market in Montreal|