Shootin' It Straight - Tending Someone’s Land

Things sometimes need to be put into perspective to remind us what really matters. Over the weekend, that happened to me at a rural BBQ joint of all places. A singer on a small stage was telling stories about the songs he played when he made a point that stuck with me. He talked about being humbled by the realization that, at best, we are only placeholders for our possessions until the next person comes along.

I’ve heard similar sentiments before, but for whatever reason, this time it really hit home. Maybe it was the way he put it, or maybe it was simply a reminder I needed at that particular moment. Either way, it got me thinking about how much time we spend chasing, gaining, and piling up earthly accomplishments. We work to acquire more, improve what we have, and leave our mark on the world. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with any of that, but somewhere along the way, we can get so caught up in the pursuit that we forget to enjoy the ride.

For all our fretting and fussing, we are living on dirt somebody else owned a century ago. The houses, farms, and businesses we see scattered across the countryside have changed hands more times than most of us could begin to count. The property lines on a deed may look permanent, but the names written on that paper are anything but. Somebody worked that ground, raised a family on it, and made plans for the future long before most of us ever came along. Now we’re the ones tending it for a little while.

The same goes for the things we work so hard to own. That shiny vehicle we prize so dearly is made from materials that have already lived another life in one form or another. The lumber in our houses came from trees that stood long before we ever laid eyes on them. The clothes on our backs were made by somebody we’ll probably never meet, using materials that passed through more hands than we could imagine. We like to draw a line around our possessions and call them ours, but just about everything we have started somewhere else.

Even the things we consider family treasures are only ours for a season. A pocketknife passed down from a grandfather, a recipe book stained with years of use, or an old tractor that has worked the same patch of ground for generations may hold more meaning than anything money can buy. Yet those things, too, will eventually pass into somebody else’s hands. We may be the ones caring for them today, but we won’t be the last.

That’s not meant to be a gloomy thought. In fact, I believe there’s a little freedom in recognizing it. If none of this is truly ours to keep forever, perhaps we ought to spend less time worrying about accumulating it and a little more time appreciating what we have while it’s here. We can work ourselves into the ground trying to get ahead, only to look up one day and realize that life kept moving while we were busy making other plans.

There will always be another piece of property to buy, another project to tackle, another vehicle to upgrade, and another dollar to chase. There is no shortage of things that can be done, fixed, improved, or acquired. The trouble is that the list never really ends. If we wait until everything is just right before we allow ourselves to enjoy life, we may find that we’ve spent the whole journey preparing for a destination we never reach.

Sometimes we need to slow down enough to notice what is already right in front of us. It might be a meal with family, a quiet evening on the porch, a good conversation with an old friend, or a drive down a familiar backroad with the windows rolled down. Those moments rarely come with a price tag, and they don't require us to own a single extra thing. Yet they are often the very things we remember most when we look back.

We also ought to consider what it means to leave something behind. Most of us won't have our names attached to a highway, a courthouse, or a building. Our names may eventually disappear from property deeds and account statements, and the things we spent years accumulating will be sold, traded, worn out, or handed down. But the way we treated people, the time we gave our families, and the lessons we passed along may continue long after our possessions have moved on. There is a difference between leaving behind a pile of things and leaving behind something that matters.

Perhaps that is where we should put more of our effort. Take care of what you've been entrusted with. Work hard, provide for your family, maintain your property, and enjoy the fruits of your labor. There is satisfaction in a job well done and nothing wrong with taking pride in what you've built. Just don't let the things you own become the things that own you. Don't become so busy tending the land that you forget to enjoy the life unfolding on it.

One day, somebody else will be standing where we're standing now. They'll be driving the roads we drive, living in the houses we occupied, and looking over the same hills and fields. They'll have their own plans, worries, and ambitions, and they'll likely believe they've got plenty of time to get around to the things that matter most. Eventually, they'll be the ones passing things along, too.

Until then, we're just the current caretakers. We get a little time to work the ground, make a living, raise our families, enjoy a few good meals, and leave things in decent shape for whoever comes next. That's a pretty good arrangement if you ask me.

So go ahead and take care of your land, whatever form it comes in. Just remember that the deed only tells part of the story. We may get to call it ours for a while, but we're all just tending someone else's land. The real question is what we'll do with our time on it.