One day, I realized that I like taking photos of feet. Not just anyone’s feet, my feet. For me, a selfie is not a photo of my face but of my feet. One reason is that I have a slightly shy personality, so I don’t like taking photos of my face (I’m the type of person who doesn’t know what kind of pose to take or expression to make when someone takes my picture). Another reason is that I can’t take photos of my face like people do in selfies. I’m the type of clumsy person who only gets half of my face in the picture. Or it’s crooked, or my finger is in the photo. So, yeah, it’s much easier to take a photo of my feet. No need to think of a pose or make a face, and I have better control of what I’m doing.

If you were to ask me though, whether I started taking photos of my feet because I wasn’t good at taking selfies, I would say it was not intentional. I started taking photos of my feet because I wanted to show the scenery at my feet. By including my own feet, I could show proof that I was there. Maybe I was showing off. “Look at what an amazing place I was in!” Actually though, it was not so much a desire to tell others, “I was here,” that motivated me, but rather a desire to tell myself, “This is where I am right now.” To look down at my feet is a way for me to check in, for me to confirm where I am and what I am doing.

I would like to call this checking in, “listening with my feet.” Just like when you listen with your ears, you strain your ears and concentrate and turn your heart to the sounds that enter your ears at that moment, when you listen with your feet, you feel what is beneath your feet and concentrate and turn your heart to the place where you are standing in that moment. You can do this barefoot or with shoes on. Is the ground soft or hard? What is it made of? Are your feet cold or warm? Are they wet or dry? Are they steady or shaky? You look down at your feet and feel the way in which they are touching the ground, and imagine your connection to the earth. This is how I listen with my feet. In forests, rivers, lakes, and fields.

Until I started farming, to me, soil was just dirt. It was one category of the places upon which I had stepped – sidewalk, road, grass, sand, rock, dirt, etc. When I started farming, I became aware of soil for the first time. The hardness of soil. The color of soil. The texture of soil. The smell of soil. I didn’t know that there were so many kinds of soil. Soil doesn’t have a voice, but the state of the soil tells you what kind of environment you are in. Even just around my house, the soil in the field, the soil in the forest, and the soil in my yard are all different.

Just like the soil, various surfaces and various places tell a story. Our feet, which step upon those places also have their own stories to tell. The places we have stepped, the roads we have walked, these are what make us who we are. Even feet that do not move have their own story of why they can’t move. When I look down at my feet and realize, “This is where I am right now,” I feel, “I am alive right now.” The Bible says that we come from the soil and will return to the soil, so maybe planting our feet on the ground is a way of returning to our roots. That is how we confirm our existence. I don’t want to forget my connection to the earth; I want to continue to try to listen with my feet. So yeah, don’t expect any selfies showing my face.