The Poet's Daughter: 🌿 Chapter 3: "A Season of Falling"
Minimalism As Resistance; Joy As Resistance
Welcome
Hello! I’m Emily Lupita. I’m a travel writer & artist from rural Iowa currently living between Iowa City and Ankara, the capital of Turkiye. I’m also an English teacher & editor.
The Poet’s Daughter is a nonfiction project (in progress) on - Emily Lupita Explores - acreativity journal where I share explorations from my art desk & cultural travels, as well as motherhood with my two Autistic sons. You can read more about my father and his bardic poetry + creative work on - American Bardic Poet.
Emily Lupita
The Poet’s Daughter
Work In Progress 2024
Chapter 3: A Season Of Falling
“A Season of Falling” delves into the complex relationship between a daughter and her poet father. The father, a nonconformist, lives a minimalist lifestyle as an act of resistance against modern society. His unconventional choices, such as living in a barn and rejecting technology, are driven by a deep-seated belief in simplicity and a desire to connect with nature.
The daughter, influenced by her father's philosophy, grapples with her own identity and purpose. She initially tries to distance herself from his unconventional lifestyle, seeking a more conventional path. However, as she matures, she realizes that her father's influence has shaped her own worldview and that she, too, is a rebel in her own way. The story explores minimalism and joy as different acts of resistance, and the themes of family, identity, and the power of art. It highlights the impact of a parent's beliefs on a child's development and the enduring bond between a father and daughter, even when they have vastly different lifestyles.
Chapter 3: Excerpt
“Once he warmed up, Dad could see the fear in us, frozen on our faces. He agreed to devise a system that would let us know if he was home or if he had left, so we would know if we needed to search for him. As long as he was living in the abandoned barn, he promised to leave rocks and feathers as symbols to us, divulging his whereabouts. And, if my brothers and I needed to get a hold of him, we could leave a note under a certain rock or inside a certain bale of hay. Then, whenever he returned, whether hours or days or months later, he would read it and respond with his own note left in a secret location.
This may not have sounded like much of a plan to most people, especially not to my friends at school. Their dads picked them up from practice, took them to the movies, and bought them nice dresses to wear to the dances. I went to the dances and sometimes even the movies, too, but my dad never had anything to do with these things. For me, just knowing where my Dad was - that he was still alive - was what I needed. It helped with that feeling of despair in my stomach; it helped take away a bit of the burn.”
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This is interesting and sounds like quite a story.