When I close my eyes and think of my happy place I’m small again, barefoot and looking down at my bruised legs. It’s a warm day and there is a soft breeze. I am under a climbing tree next to a rock affectionately named Fred Flintstone. I can smell muscadines and their leaves with the lingering scent of bacon and eggs from the morning. Birds are chirping and a hammer is hammering away behind me. In my mouth is a piece of sugar cane leaking its sweet juice down my chin. The world is safe and everyone that I love is just inside a house that Jack built. I’m in my grandparent’s yard in South Georgia. This was a place of absolute wonder for me as a child. It’s the place I fell in love with all things I hold dear today. Family, plants, vinyl records, holidays, cooking, and Jesus were placed in my hands and heart there in that home my grandfather built himself, down a long sandy driveway.
My grandparents, survivors of the Great Depression, were resourceful and smart. Little was wasted – even day-old bread could feed the birds. Fruit seeds would be set on a windowsill to dry and take a shot at a life in the garden. Everyone had a tree or bush or rose planted just for them. A very old gopher tortoise even made it a stop on his quarterly jaunt to the small creek that ran through the woods past the back of the property. It held all the magic that one little girl could dream up in that couple of acres. Fresh slices of tomato and pickles from a dusty jar were common on my grandmother’s table and no one left hungry or without a hug and prayer over them. The muscadines and scuppernongs that grew fat and juicy made everything from homemade wine to preserves and many a wild vine popped out along the yard from quick snacks the birds and kids made from them.
Today, every time I step into my own back yard, I am reminded of what I carried forward from that place. Not a place I can visit anymore, even most of the people who made it home are gone. What remains of them, and it, however, are still real and palpable. When I received my very own pressure canner this past Christmas or when I save my bacon grease from breakfast, I can feel them. As I welcome people into my home and lose hours in the backyard talking, laughing or teaching my own children about how a seed becomes a green bean it’s like their hand on my shoulder guiding their legacy and memory through to the next generation.
This simple foundation full of wonder and magic hasn’t always been at the front of my mind. For years I wrestled with what I wanted. The balance a young adult must have to establish their roots anywhere is delicate. I have gone through many phases and periods of wanting different things some lofty, expensive, or glamorous and none felt authentic. But when I met my now husband, we half joked about a goat farm. We bought pepper plants and tomato starts and pushed them into the soil with hope and love. We drove our babies into the country to enjoy lakes and campsites and simple things that brought tan lines and laugh lines to our bodies and somewhere along the line it all came back to me.
What I want now is what I have truly always wanted. To build a home, to plant a garden, to bake bread and make a dinner that can make the people I love smile. It’s not too lofty a goal. It’s simple. That took time to work out. Is that enough; To want to be simple and safe and loved and share that with others. After grappling with it for a few years I have realized not only is it enough, it is everything. It’s the foundation for a life and so much more. So as I start on this new part of my journey and share with you all what I know and also what I don’t I hope that it honors those beautiful people and places that taught me what they knew. I hope it can inspire you to settle into the simple. May it bring in the ones you love around your table and give them a place to feel safe, and maybe a touch of magic.
Great post!