When moving day was still far off, I was excited. It seemed all I could see around here were the traumas I and my family had experienced over the years. I longed to never drive by that school again, or that hospital again. I could stop reliving the slights by this or that unfriendly neighbor, or the sights of once-wild places now paved over.
But as moving day nears, a very different aura has fallen over this property of mine, one that illuminates all the things I will miss. This post is about those things that are close to both my home and my heart.
Two hedges of Limelight Hydrangeas, that I planted myself, have finally created the arched walkway to my front door that I longed for. It is cool under there, a lovely spot for my stone bench, and I’ve sat there often while my animals, domestic and wild, came to sit with me.
Pine trees! I somehow have a grove of pine trees in my one acre plot. They were small beings when we first moved in here. The last owners apparently thought that the house would sell better if there were a privacy hedge between this house and the next one, which house turned out to be populated by extremely unfriendly, to the point of cruel, people. How I will not miss those neighbors! How I will miss brushing my hands over those pine needles! How many hours did I spend under their branches, looking up and soaking up their power and majesty? How handy were the fallen pine needles for freshening up the chicken coop and run? How many cups of tea have I made from those needles? I look out at them every morning while I have my coffee and peruse Hive. They have become my most stalwart of friends.
There’s the wisteria that I have spent 15 years trying to eradicate. Every year I would pull more of it down, digging it up by the roots, and thinking I’d done it in, only to see it climbing a tree 100 feet away the following spring. It’s making its way back across my deck again. I no longer have the heart to try to tame it. Why not let something that lives so robustly have its way with the house and yard?
It took me much less time to decide to live with the poison ivy that loves this place. It is beautiful stuff really, and knows its place. Of all the vines I’ve battled over the years, poison ivy has spread the least. It has stayed completely out of my flower beds. It knows how to share. I will miss my poison ivy!
I will not be here in October to see my favorite event of the entire year – Fothergilla in its fall glory. It’s impossible (for me) to capture in a photograph, but unforgettable if you have ever stood near one. Seek one out at the end of the fall color season - it’s one of the last shrubs to go to its full glory.
My cottage garden! This space has been well nourished by countless animals I have buried there. The soil is rich, amended over the years with compost and animal droppings, especially that of my now rehomed chickens, who all loved to rest under the dwarf red maple that I scored in a nursery in Brooklyn. Although it was lovingly tended for nearly 20 years, it went untended this year. I had to choose among a lot of tasks that needed doing this final year here, and learning how to grow vegetables seemed imperative, so that darling flowered space has been run over by mile-a-minute, porcelain berry, Virginia Creeper, and wild grapes. Rose of Sharon saplings are everywhere. Since this garden is in such disarray, I know the next owner will have little choice but to mow it all down and start again. What will happen to all the critters that have made their homes there? The goldfinches and hummingbirds, the squirrels and chipmunks, the rabbits and opossums? I can’t bear to think of what will happen to them all.
Maybe I will write more about the human relationships that I will lose when I leave here, some of those forever. But for today, this little essay has left me quite bereft. And I have packing to do!!!
Thank you for joining me here today. You Hiveans make up a large part of my community, a community I can take with me.
All images are mine.
Thanks for the support! I'm gonna need it!
You've built such a beautiful garden and home during your time there, and I can feel the sense of mourning that will come with leaving it all behind to go somewhere else.
Change can be difficult for the introverted artistic types, especially when it involves leaving so many deeply ingrained memories and expressions of ourselves and loved ones behind.
Now that I've seen that beautiful arched walkway, I'm gonna miss it too.
I hope you have everything in good order and feel positive about the upcoming changes my friend.
Thank you! One of these days I hope to make it up to central NY. I will be much closer. We can meet in person! You'd be my first ever in-the-flesh blockchain blogger. But one step at a time.
That would be wonderful! You would also be the first person I've met from the blockchain in the flesh.
If you're moving to the location you mentioned to me privately, you'll definitely be pretty close!
Let's make it happen! :)
It seems I've said goodbye more often than hello in my life. I so sympathise with your "lasts" @owasco! But I find the hardest part is that transitional time. Packing and moving. May you enter your new season with not as much sorrow as you imagine. And may only an exciting and wonderful chapter lie ahead for you to discover with as much anticipation as a good book!!
Thank you for your sweet thoughts! I've said goodbye to many people, but mostly stayed close to these parts for 37 years now. This time, I'm saying goodbye to both people and places, which makes it a bit harder. But I will still have me, and that's all I really need.
I too am moving from a home I did so much work on. It has been a long drawn out process, but I am keenly aware of all the emotions you write about. Good luck on the future home.
TWO MORE NIGHTS IN THIS HOUSE AND I CAN'T SLEEP! Stock up on whatever sleep aids you use. And a bit of advice - DON'T PACK THOSE EARLY LIKE I DID! (haha writing this early in the morning after a sleepless night, so I'm a wreck)
I hope your move goes smoothly, and your future home is doused with love and light. Thank you for your well wishes.
I couldn't imagine moving away from my gardens.....
It's going to be hard! But I have nothing like you do. Not even a tiny bit close.
I've been thinking a lot about you. How are you?
Not so good, especially after the cider pressing. Not bounced back well. Today I've got more spaghetti sauce. One foot in front of the other, best I can...
One foot in front of the other. I know that dance, and it's hard. I wish you deep and restful sleeps! And help. Do you have enough company, and enough help?
Not enough company and nowhere near enough help. But the carpenter is here each weekday at 7AM, so I must make an effort by then...
Beautiful words and pictures. Thank you.
Thank you! Now I'm more of a COMPLETE WRECK.
That brick archway! The flora, the fauna (namely, Freddy!!), the human relationships not pictured here - oh September! Autum is already a sign of change and winding down and things dying, to be reborn. You will have a new life in a good place. All is well, and all shall be well - it's just letting go and moving on, and PACKING up and physically moving (!!!!) and all the goodbyes. Good thing you tamed Freddy so he can come with you now.
FIVE DAYS LATER I come back and see my comment did not post. Ok..... I did read this one the day it posted, though. I did.
Here is yet another post of yours that I missed. What a bum I am! what BEAUTIFUL photos - the view out your front door; the colorful poison ivy; the cottage garden. How lovely, how idyllic, this glimpse of your life is. Moving from a place where you put down so many roots - #nostalgia and #grief, yes, but I did catch some posts of your new abode, your new yard, your "new" (but familiar) town.
And speaking of #grief, dare I publicly call attention to the recent loss of your only son.... I am heartbroken for you and thinking of you constantly. (Maybe a needed diversion from the loss of my three sisters: losing a child has to be worse than all other losses.) As a writer, I should have no end of lovely, consoling words for you, but I have none. We carry on, as we must, with a heaviness in our hearts, and if a puppy or new stray cat can make us smile, or tug our heart strings, we say bring it on - the warm fuzzies, the Being Needed, the unbearable cuteness of small, furry mammals. Hazel. Freddy. Patches. Maybe in time, more chickens. How many kittens does it take to fill a void left by a child taken too soon from us.... {{ hugs }} and "You will endure" just don't seem to be good offerings. What would be? How can I help? In my own experience, the kind words of friends (and even the well-meant but annoying words!) have made a difference. We are not alone. Others have survived tragedy and grief. It's what we do, right? I don't know. I'm still mourning three sisters (ages 19, 63, and 62), and struggling every day with the sense of loss. To lose a child! To say our lost loved one is "in a better place now," free of suffering - are we really to rejoice at this? No. We do not. But we look for what little solace we may find. "In a better place now." I hope we all meet again in these Better Places!
Soon after his death, I was elated by the fact that he is no longer in pain, which he suffered for many many years. I carried that pain too, had to witness it all day everyday. Now that narcotics are hard to come by, suffering has increased for a great many people.
But I am also bereft over the thoughts and feelings lost, the opportunities never realized, the conversations we could have had, the love.
Love increases without bound when a loved one dies in your arms. I am grateful that he and I had that time together, that our final words to each other included I love you, over and over.
Thank you for your words, words only Carol Kean can write. xoxoxoxox I love you
Ha, now I see that I had in fact read this post the day it went live, but my comment had not gone through (blame the world's slowest internet connection).