I image you, like me, struggle to leave your favorite getaways.
I love my house in town, the familiarity of my routines. But when I have the chance to visit our family homestead in the Texas Hill Country, my inhales and exhales are deeper, stronger.
Unless it’s morning and the birds are in chorus, sometimes the wind is the only sound I hear. And at night, depending on the moon, the darkness nestles around me like a secure, weighted blanket.
It is not only the surrounding nature that soothes me, it is the space, the vastness of the farm fields in front of, and behind the house. We do not own the farmland. We do not have to worry about when it rains, when to plant, what to grow. But we can watch the process unfold and bear witness to life sprouting.
In this place, where my great-great-grandparents immigrated and settled in the 1840’s, the soil is rich, the air is clean. Each time the 350 year old Oak sways with the wind, I hear the whispers of my ancestors saying “das ist gut.” Yes, it is good.
Here, movement comes from wind, visible by swaying grasses and tree branches, or flames in the fire pit,
or the old windmill.
There is no traffic, only a tractor that drives down the path toward its duty.
Instead of the wailing of sirens, the sandhill cranes bugle their calls.
Here, the sunsets are not obstructed by buildings.
Here, time moves slowly and self-reflection is possible in the silence.
Until next time.
Do you have a favorite place that is difficult to leave behind?