A Dream Unfolds

I’ve had moments in my life of such extreme positive emotion that I can’t think or speak or really do much more than stand there with a big stupid grin on my face, eyes wide, heart racing, stomach tumbling.

These moments are relatively rare, and often they catch me off guard. My wedding day was one, for obvious reasons, but then there was the time Kev and I hiked out to a waterfall in upstate New York in the prime of autumn, and I could feel a tremendous awe for the beauty around me welling up from my toes to my throat, prompting me to throw armfuls of red and gold leaves in the air and run under them, my face turned toward the sun. Ah, the very memory gives me goose bumps.

And then there was the time just this past May when I first stepped foot on our land up north. We saw the land in November, when it was covered with brush and snow, and we purchased it in January. All winter we used the satellite image of our 9-acre square only a few miles from Lake Superior to imagine our someday homestead and its gardens, greenhouses, fruit trees, chickens, and bees, our dream of self-sufficient living nearer than it had ever been—Kevin with his hands in the dirt, lovingly growing food for our family, our neighbors, and, someday, or community; me getting to know the chickens, preserving the harvest for the winter, and sneaking off to the Big Lake to bask in its sheer magnificence and work on my novel.

 Waiting for the snow to melt from this year’s ridiculously long winter was a test of patience, and when May finally rolled around, I was about ready to burst. We drove the 3.5 hours north on a sunny Friday, and when we pulled up to our parcel, my shaky legs tripped over themselves getting out of the car. And then I was there, standing, by the grace of God, on our future, feeling for a moment like an intruder until reality sank in: This is ours! 



Our little bit of earth (May 2013)

I wanted to run and sing with my hands in the air, turn cartwheels, and spin around until I was panting and dizzy, and I might have actually done a few of these things, but I’ll never tell! Crying and laughing and feeling strongly compelled to get down on my knees and kiss the ground were it not all wet and muddy, I believed at that moment that anything is possible. I could see everything we’d talked about and planned and prayed for starting to unfold in front of me—hard work, simple pleasures, and good, clean living embodied in one little piece of earth.  Feeling like I was standing under a single beam of sunshine all my own, gratitude, humility, and hope surged through me.

I wish I could have bottled up those feelings for a discouraging day, as attaining a goal is never simple. But I have other methods for dealing with obstacles: I just close my eyes and imagine myself on our land five years from now. I smell the lilacs. I hear the laundry flapping on the clothesline. I feel the spring breeze ruffle my hair. And I know I’m where I belong.



Lake Superior--beach near our land (taken last September)