Huck and I have begun a new ritual. Climbing up the side acreage to view our land from the high point. It is one of my favorite parts of our property, and few people have experienced it. Part is covered in Savannah Oak where I dream of building a small writing hut where I could spend a nite in the thicket, perhaps with a small corral to leave my donkeys at nite, who would carry up my wine, bread and water for the evening.
I have lived in many houses I loved, and had gardens too that I felt connected to. But owning land is a love affair like no other. This may sound over dramatic, but it's not. It's one thing to fix an aging house, it's another to help the land, over grazed,
or underutilized. We have much to do, and the work will never be finished to our liking, but I do know this land will be left in better condition than when we bought it. I do know that when I'm walking on that upper pasture, looking down at the old barn, the lavender fields, and the moss laden oaks, I feel appreciated by something very internal in this land.Perhaps the feeling of walking on this expanse of land is very primordial, poking my heart's library of unconscious memories, reminding me of a time I can't photograph, a time when I roamed the earth free as another creature without a land deed.
When I took a walk with Huck and Martyn up to the top point this weekend, I made a promise to myself, and the land, that I will visit each day if possible. Walking straight up, I watch my feet sink into soft soil, I feel my heart pumping, I hear Huck running and the stream clicking on rock. I have much to do, with pleasure.
