- Details
- Written by John Michael Thornton
- Category: We Are Moving
We are moving.
I haven’t talked about it much to anyone by family and close friends because people always ask the question, “Are you sure you want to move?” My answer is always the same, “Not really, but we are moving just the same.”
We are moving in with my father in law, to help him and help keep him in the best health possible. It was a family decision that we have been discussing for over a year, but two months ago it changed from a discussion to a plan and from a plan into action – action that has involved an awful lot of paint, spackle and cardboard boxes.
Two months of Joe and I having unexpected health problems (mine are all grounding and first chakra related), two months of trips to Goodwill and the dump, two months of unending visits to the hardware store, two months of plumbing problems and toilets that won’t flush, mowers that don’t mow, and two months of trying to envision what our new home will look like at the end of all this work.
Oh, and two months of me trying to let go of my home of fourteen years. The place where I built a successful business and we founded a non-profit, the place I planned and planted gardens – some that thrived and some that failed, the place I fell in love with my Husband, the place I never expected to stay more than five years in but crept into my soul.
The place where I feel safe.
Over my kitchen door, the one I go in and out of dozens of times a day, is written, “You are safe.” I always have been safe in this house, and it’s not that I haven’t gotten bad news of had problems here, but I have always been safe, even from myself.
I spent a lot of energy making myself feel safe here, for months I would walk nightly circles around the property with blessed water, incense, prayers and energy. I talked to the local faeries and elementals, connected with the spirits of the land and gave this ground all the love I had my heart – sometimes that didn’t feel like very much, but it was all I had to give.
This land gave me back beauty, security, food and my lovely dog Dart – who came to me on a dark and stormy summer night. My time on this land helped me find the person I thought I had lost under anger, disappointment, loss and loneliness. I relearned how to love here and how to offer acceptance, I learned lessons on nonjudgement and forgiveness and grounding and gratitude and I keep learning them over and over – each time I get closer to understanding what those words really mean.
I spent hours mowing and digging, giving my mind the space it needed to ruminate and meander. Space I rarely give myself with some project to work on – this land and this house was my project.
Terry Pratchett wrote (more or less) that people tell the land what it is and the land makes them who they are, I called this land home.
- Details
- Written by John Michael Thornton
- Category: We Are Moving
We are moving.
We finally brought the cats to the new house. Maya, our fifteen year old, skinny, black kitty, the one we were most worried about, took the move easiest. She wandered around a bit, found a soft spot to lay and relaxed. Stanley, who is brave, brash and only four years old, is a mess. She yowled like it was the end of the world and found a tiny corner where she could hide.
It’s been a few days now and they are slowly acclimating, but super affectionate. We have set up our living room in the furnished basement of the new house and are keeping the cats downstairs while we continue to settle in, move and unpack. At first, they were both perfectly happy to just stay in their space and try to figure out this new home, but Stanley now has other plans. She has started sitting at the top of the stairs waiting for the door to open. She hasn’t tried to escape into the rest of the house, but she knows there is more to this new home… and she hates closed doors.
Maya on the other paw, has found a chair to make her own and she is hard to pry out of it once she is settled. It’s already acquiring a smattering of black fur.
“I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.”
― Jean Cocteau
- Details
- Written by John Michael Thornton
- Category: We Are Moving
We are moving.
As we slowly leave this place I feel the energies and protections of this place starting to crumble and fall away. For years, Joe has told me that when I am gone for more that two days the energy starts to shift and he feels spirits start to mess with him – playing with the temp in the shower and looking at him from shadows. I know those spirits, we have an Agreement, but as we spend less and less time here the Agreement starts to falter.
In the last few weeks it has become clear that the new house has no place for our chickens. We talked about who could take them and we have a few friends with chickens. I wasn’t worried, but as we started hearing back from people that they didn’t have the extra room I found myself saying, “we need to get rid of these chickens! I have to clean out the garage before we can put the house on the market, time is passing and we have to get rid of the chickens!” Something heard and for the first time in seven years something got into the garage and killed our chickens, three of four have been killed in the last two days. I’ve tried to close the gaps and places anything could get in – I have failed.
I sit here, writing and feeling like a coward. Last night there was one chicken left, a rescue found in a suburban yard. I’m not quite ready to go see if she is ok.
Ok, I’m ready.
…
I just buried the remains of our last chicken. She was a gentle red hen, often picked on by the bigger, feistier girls.
To our chickens, our girls: Thank you. Thank you for your eggs that nourished us. Thank you for your poop that nourished the garden. Thank you for the funny chicken stories I got to tell. Thank you for making this lovely place feel more like the “urban micro-farm” I’ve called it half in jest. Thank you.
To the creature that killed and ate our chickens, our girls: I can’t be mad. I hope you were quick and efficient and I hope you gained needed sustenance from the odd, charming, loud and messy tiny dinosaurs who lived in our garage coop for the last few years. Maybe I should thank you for doing what I would not have done and solving a small problem in my life and in my move… I’m not quite that evolved, but I will work on it.
I will also be more careful of what I ask for as the Agreement at this place passes from me to the next steward of this land.