I wonder where the farmer is, watching his cattle while the lake glimmers behind him. He is surrounded by beautiful mountains and lakes and joined by his cows. I like to imagine what I would do if I was the farmer Friedrich had painted. I would sit and watch those mountains for hours and never get bored. Some of the trees are bright green, but I can tell that they are beginning to turn red. I jump in the lake and swim around, although not for long because I get cold. The lake tastes fresh and earthy, its scent clearing all thoughts from my head. I return to the same spot the next day and think about climbing those mountains, but I never do it because I’m scared of heights. Instead, I set up one of those portable hammocks. I bring Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas along with a cozy blanket and pillow and read in front of the scenery. The bugs have begun their retreat from Earth in preparation for frigid weather, so they are not there to bother me. When I get bored of reading, I gaze at the water and the greenery on the mountains, thinking about life and my future and other prophetic things. The cool wind breezes by my face, bringing with it the scent of pine and the smell of cattle. I fall asleep, lulled by the music of wind whistling through the branches. The birds and the wind sing together, performing a perfect duet, accompanied by the symphony of nature. When I wake up, I stare at the clouds, which are beginning to turn pale pink. When I realize the time, I go back home, gazing out one last time at my sanctuary. 

I know I am not the farmer in the painting, and I also know that the farmer would not have the life I am imagining for myself. In reality, his life would have been difficult as a farmer providing for his family, fighting against the elements and the world. I like to think that when he sees the mountains, though, he is able to pause. Pause, and appreciate the beauty in life. He sees past all the hardships, death, and despair that cling to us once he gazes at those mountains. For a moment, he is able to let his mind rest in our shared sanctuary and simply exist. The farmer and I are the same in this manner. We differ only in that I am real, and he is not. He is a figment of Freidrich’s imagination, forever immortalized through the power of acrylic, but we are connected by those mountains. We hear the same birds and breeze, bask in the same sun, are comforted by the lapping of water by the bank, and feel the same moss and soft grass brush against our feet. 

I know that the farmer isn’t real, and that our bond is just imagined, but that doesn’t matter. By forming a connection with him, I bond with everyone who has experienced Friedrich’s art. We do not know each other, and we all come from different walks of life. We have one thing in common, though, a shared joy of art and appreciation of the little things in life. Maybe this painting made someone’s day a little brighter, and they too appreciated the beauty of our world. One day, I would like to hear their story. What would they do if they were the farmer? Would they be brave enough to climb the mountains, or brave the cold of the lake and swim longer than I am able? I don’t know these answers yet, but I am happy to ask anybody and everybody in search of answers. In a world so often divided, I am glad to share this one connection with another imagined farmer.