Midcoast resident Heather D. Martin wants to know what’s on your mind; email her at heather@heatherdmartin.com.

Land. Land has been much on my mind of late.

There is a lot of joy in taking on this old and quirky home, lots of weirdness too as I change things I know my mother would resent me changing. Mostly, though, it is a lot of work. This house is big on “character,” low on efficiency.

The biggest change of all, though, is the relationship to the land around me.

In moving, we sold our farm. Well, I say “farm,” but… well. I mean, it’s not like I was producing food or anything of use to the wider population. However, we took the stewardship of our little 8.6 acres very seriously.

The fields were mown, fences mended, trees tended to, and we worked hard to ensure that nutrients went back into the soil. There were a lot of “scrubby bits” when we bought it, and we worked to restore those – while also respecting the parts where it was supposed to be scrubby, the “alpine” sections. Point is, we were forever out there, interacting with it, especially since my horses lived on it.

Now, we are on a much smaller plot and the horses are bunking three doors down at a neighbor’s. Do not, by the way, feel sorry for them in the least. They now have 20 acres of beautiful fields that border the bay. Yeah. They’re fine. But their land is not my land, and that feels weird.

What makes this current situation so particularly strange for me is that I don’t believe in this “my land” thing in the first place. It seems silly. I mean, I grew up here, so, yes, the construct we’ve set up is familiar. Land gets mapped out into plots and there are deeds and whatnot. Tax bills depend on this system. Lots of things depend on it, in fact.

Take a step back, though, just a tiny one, and it loses all meaning. Like a word that has been said too often. You know?

I mean, here we are. Humans. With a life span of, what, 80 years? Maybe 91 if you’re like my folks, or 102 if you want to set records and such. Still, even if you were a Greenland shark with a good 500 years to your lifespan, it is nothing compared to the age of the land being claimed under “ownership.” So, yes, it seems silly.

What’s more, no land is an island. Not even islands. Not really. I mean, everything we do impacts everything else. If I set a fire in my yard, the smoke hits my neighbors. If I pour out used oil on my land, the entire water table takes the hit. So, again, the isolationist viewpoint doesn’t work.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, not only as I look around my own backyard, but as I see large tracts of land earn protection status (yay!) or become a park (also yay) or as I read of large – I mean really large – parcels of land in the northern part of our state changing hands in ways that make me raise an eyebrow (not yay).

I can make sense of private property in the context of what an individual or family needs.

What I don’t understand is private ownership of a parcel nearly double the size of the town where I live.

I’m not suggesting a mass overhaul of the system, or allotments. I am, however, asking questions, being curious – and also donating to organizations I see treating and managing land in responsible ways.

For me, I am starting this new year with renewed memberships to two local land conservation trusts and Maine Farmland Trust, as well as Maine Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association. My gifts are small. I am not a financial “player,” but I hope they help, and I hope they help ground me in keeping my values front and center. I also have a goal for 2025 to walk a new trail every weekend – getting out and making friends with the land and all who live upon it.

I hope your 2025 is filled with explorations as well, and that you find a way, monetary or otherwise, to honor the land that sustains us all.