Response #2

            All throughout Andy Catlett Wendell Berry is cultivating Andy’s memories as well as memories from those who loved Andy. A continual construction of this memorial foundation is present within the book. Even the book’s structure lends itself to memories. The chapters are broken up into little snippets of the past. These valued glimpses into history are what the entirety of the book revolves around. However, Andy’s memories are not directly what caught my interest along with my group’s interest on Thursday during our discussion. What really began to engage our thoughts was the focus on the adults of Andy’s memories, more precisely, the adults’ memories.

 “They spoke familiarly of lifetimes not their own.” (p. 111) Memories of memories, this was a captivating idea to Jayme, Rebekah, and myself. While reflecting on this quote, we were prompted with this question by our professors, “Is this (referring to the quote) a lost skill/art?” For me, the first thought that came to mind was of the ancient Hebrews. History, legend, lore, faith, and religion were meticulously handed down by word of mouth, from memory. Story by story, the Hebrews (and really most early civilizations) solely grew and developed all of their culture by “lifetimes not their own.” (p. 111) Memories were the source of conversation topics and dinnertime dialogue as well as law and etiquette. In the same way, Andy’s family (the older generations) did the same thing as their discussions often “drifted… to other things, to common memories, old stories told again.” (p. 110) Reflecting upon memories and memories not even your own has been commonplace for such a long time, but we have lost that skill. We have lost the art of reminiscing as well. No longer (for our group’s families and those we know of) do families relax together sharing past times and the lives that they lived. Timeless lessons passed down from generation to generation to generation have begun to disintegrate without a blink of an eye. One example that promptly comes to the forefront of my mind has to do with the stars. In Astronomy class the other week, my professor talk of how our literacy of the heavens is so miniscule compared to that of an average person’s literacy only a few generations ago. When this knowledge is no longer shared, it vanishes from the common man’s life. What else have we lost? What other skills and lessons that have been learned through millennia have splintered due to the fact that we no longer passionately share the memories and past lives of loved ones and of those whom we are closest to?

While we were in the thick of commentating on this view, Professor Young meandered by, heard our talk, and posed an insightful question of his own. Why? Why have we traded off understanding and connection for ignorance? We sat. Thinking for a moment, I began to put forward an idea. To me, people no longer value the past because they want to partition themselves from the past. Things are much easier that way, no responsibility, no blame. It becomes quite convenient. One can blame whomever they want in the past because, well, they are dead. They have no rebuttal. A prime example of this, I think, would easily come from a talk we had in class a few days ago. We talked about a comparison of racism and ecological degradation. In both of these scenarios blame is being blasted around, and no one will really take responsibility for anything. This is only possible when one completely separates themselves from their own history. Like I said earlier, things are easier that way. We have severed our ties with the past for an illusion of innocence, but in return we have blindly sacrificed refined truths and insights that come from the weathering of years upon years.