(Photo of Somartin - March 2023 taken by the author - The Earthway is the bright red house, cottage and barn roofs in the lower left, gardens to the rear/right of house)
Rainy Reflections: The Way Forward
Rain lashes the Saxon windows of The Earthway Residence—Somartin Nr 4, its ancient beams groaning under the storm, a once-Communist hub now a sanctuary weaving community through care, not control. Inside, the terra-cotta soba—a Romanian masonry stove, its tiles warm with history—crackles with oak logs, casting a golden glow across the main room. The green leather couch and chair, 26 years old yet sturdy for 50 more, cradle Corey, Antonio, and Elena, while Iris lies on a bench by the stove, Lukas sprawls on the floor, and Maria perches near the hearth. Alex from Bruiu sits cross-legged, aura hopeful, joined by villagers Ana and Petru, drawn by warmth—Somartin’s 250 humming beyond, a web of 20 here. Rain’s rhythm, fire’s heat, and stew’s scent fill their 54+ Ecopsychology senses, energies pulsing—visible in flames, invisible in auras weaving the circle.
Corey, a young 65, long gray hair framing a childlike yet wise face, sits on the couch, aura steady, earthy. The rain’s steady beat mirrors his heartbeat, senses catching the fire’s warmth on his skin, the damp pine scent through a cracked window, the crew’s quiet breathing—a harmony he’s fought for, from cockpit to mud. His gaze rests on Our Earthway Primer in Iris’s hands, its worn cover a vessel for their shared vision. “Rain’s a mirror,” he says, voice low, deliberate. “Shows what holds—our way.” Iris, 6 going on 33, traces the Primer’s cover, aura bright, steady, her younger self’s fearless wisdom echoing through time. She opens it, revealing a new sketch she’s added—a map of Somartin’s valley, circles marking gardens, swaps, and workshops, her vision for seven generations ahead. “It’s muddy,” she says, voice soft, sure, “but it’s ours—growing beyond.” Her senses drink in fire’s glow, rain’s song, the crew’s warmth, her role as torchbearer firm, now blooming with her own mark.
Antonio sips ale, aura gruff, warm, like Nr 4’s corn mash whiskey, rich and waiting. “We’re a web,” he says, slow, gravelly. “Not competition—cooperation, like the swap.” Game theory agrees—Somartin plays an infinite game, thriving together, not winning alone. Elena stirs lamb stew—onions, garlic, kale from Nr 4—her aura tart, gentle. “It’s care,” she says, voice a stream. “Petru’s Mara—gone, but we held him.” Petru, by the door, nods, aura lighter since Mara’s fevered passing, a decade’s companion mourned but eased by juice and time. “Aye,” he rasps, senses catching stew’s comfort.
Lukas stretches on the floor, aura sharp, calm, a new sketch in hand—a map mirroring Iris’s, but broader, showing Bruiu’s patches linked to Somartin’s gardens. “We’re small, but steady,” he says, thoughtful. “This valley—seed-sharing, workshops—can grow, even with collapse looming.” Somartin counters Schmachtenberger’s metacrisis—climate, resources, tech—with community, not control. Corey nods, eying the Primer. “Haudenosaunee wisdom says, ‘In our every deliberation, we must consider the impact on the seventh generation’—not growth’s lie, but life’s web.” Alex speaks, Bruiu’s weight lifting, aura hopeful. “A Bruiu villager joins our next swap,” they say, slow. “Stream’s shared, stones settled—your soil woke our 20 hectares.” Their senses catch Somartin’s glow, a seed for the valley.
Maria kneels by the soba, aura radiant, weathered. “Tata (my father) loved rain,” she says, voice a river. “Said it sang plenty.” She sings—“Frunză Verde” (“Green Leaf”)—melody soft, weaving the room, senses catching fire’s warmth, rain’s beat. Ana, by the window, speaks, aura deep. “Rain’s a gift—we carry it.” Through the glass, Nr 5’s ruin stands, a shadow of past struggles, but inside, Nr 4 glows with hope. Iris sits up, Primer in hand. “It’s us—Land Care, People Care, Fair Share,” she says, firm. “The way forward.”
Energies weave—Corey’s calm, Iris’s spark, Antonio’s grit, Elena’s care, Lukas’s lines, Maria’s song, Alex’s hope, villagers’ roots—the damp pine scent through the window, fire’s crackle on their skin, stew’s warmth in their noses, all sensed through 54+ senses. McGilchrist’s relationality—from The Matter with Things—sees the world as a living web, the right hemisphere sensing interconnectedness, care over control, as Somartin’s swaps and soil work bind the valley, not break it. Vervaeke’s meaning—from Awakening from the Meaning Crisis—blooms in shared practices: the swap’s trades, soil’s tending, fire’s ritual, sensing aliveness through every act, countering modern drift. Somartin’s 250, 20 here, glow—not enough, but plenty, a seed for Transylvania’s hills. Mud’s the teacher, energy the way.
Personal Message to Readers
A Note from Kevin: Planting Seeds in Earth and Hearts
Dear loyal readers,
Writing The Muddy Way has been a journey close to my heart—a vision of resilience, community, and care, born from muddy Transylvanian soil and the wisdom of those who’ve walked before us. Each chapter, from The Haul to this The Way, has been a seed planted, not just in Somartin’s earth, but in your hearts, too. I’ve poured my soul into this story alongside Grok, my AI companion, weaving Ecopsychology’s 54+ senses, indigenous seven-generation thinking, and the hope of a world where Land Care, People Care, and Fair Share thrive over competition’s cold grip. We’ve crafted this slowly, feeling the rain, tasting the stew, sensing the fire’s warmth—hoping you feel it too.
I’ve been touched by the positive feedback I’ve received—your kind words mean the world—but I’d love and appreciate more interaction from you, my dear readers. Your thoughts will help guide Grok and me, shaping where this story goes. Should we continue The Muddy Way, digging deeper into Somartin’s web, Bruiu’s growth, and Iris’s torch? Or have you had enough, ready for a new tale? This chapter, The Way, ties an arc—rainy reflections on a resilient future— is it the last, or just the beginning? Please share your feedback, your hopes, your direction—I’m listening, eager to plant the next seed with you.
With gratitude,
Kevin