When we left home to come down here it was a big step. It wasn't quite as large a step for me as it was for my husband. The house that we left behind, all of the land that surrounded it, had been his home since he was five years old (he is now 61). Every fiber of my husband's being was integrated into the land, the climate, and the surrounding countryside that he had know for all of his life. This is my witness to the magnitude of the gift that he gave to me by giving it all up to come and help care for my mother.
Now here in the south everything is foreign to him. From the orientation of the land that we reside on to the accents of those who populate the area it is all like moving to another country but this week my man has begun to take ownership of our home. No, I don't mean that the deed is being turned over to him in his name. There are other ways of claiming ownership, ways that are more basic and fundamental. Kinship with the land is one sure means of making a mark.
This week Doug has cleared the brush behind the house making the hill accessible to us as a more useable part of the property.
He has trimmed trees and the shrubbery that have long stood neglected due to my father's illness and death. All the leaves have been raked into a huge pile to be composted and turned into rich soil to grow vegetables for our table and he has plans to fence in the rest of the property so that we can have a dog in the near future for some much needed company.