A Love Letter: Saying Goodbye

Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.

“Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front” by Wendell Berry

Nelson County, KY. Photo: Charles B. Cornell

I visited you today, the first time since the ground shifted.

You’ve been tugging at the corners of my soul since we first met almost 30 years ago. You knew exactly how to seduce me with your rolling hills, breeze-swept pond and fields of wheat glistening in the summer sun.

Ours has been a long distance relationship, deepening with time. Over the last decade you became woven into my biggest dreams. It started when I vowed you would be an integral part of my children’s lives, not just someplace they visited. With you underfoot they’ve had space to roam and adventures to explore. You’ve filled the gaps of their city life.

As you became part of them, my own desire grew, the pull becoming stronger each time I walked your fields.

And it slowly came into focus…

Architected to look as though it was an extension of you. On the ridge under the Kentucky Coffee Bean tree? Or maybe down by the little creek?

Room to welcome my people. Whispering the sweet invitation, “Come. Be.” With the prayer that all who entered would leave renewed. With the hope of many return visits.

The place my Soul Sisters would gather because finally, I would be close enough to host them around my own table, after so many years of being their guest.

The place my children would come home to. The place they would bring their children.

Yet, today I say goodbye.

The house won’t be built. The people won’t gather.

Others re-wrote our story, without our consent.

As I walk your familiar paths I leave you my tears. May they soak deep into your soil and nourish you.

I will carry you with me. Always. Forever grateful.

Love,
Denise

First published June 11, 2018