Samain Moving Moon
Last nocturne in Minnesota. We’re at the Best Western. The house is empty, the cargo van full. We pick up the dogs in the morning, then Kate heads south and I head into the western burbs to pick up co-driver, Tom Crane. After that Minnesota will swiftly pass away behind us, certainly not for the last time, but for the last time as residents.
Over the years we have experienced the death of many dogs. It’s odd, but the body of the dead dog holds no sentimental attachment for me. Of course, I’m grieving the loss of a friend, but the body no longer hold that friend. I feel the same way about our house. Empty of our presence, the life-giving force that made it home, it is of no interest to me, a lifeless building.
The grounds though, where our hands have shaped garden beds, sheds, a fire pit, an orchard, a vegetable garden, for that I have a continuing connection, one not lost by moving away from it. It will always be partly ours, partly an expression of our stewardship and care. That feels good. We left that property better than we found it, the only gift ownership really has to bestow.
I have never and still don’t feel any personal connection to Andover or this larger area we’ve inhabited. I’ll not miss it at all when we leave it behind tomorrow. Minnesota, much different. In Minnesota I became an adult. In Colorado I will become a third phase adult. And I’m looking forward to it.
Have to go to sleep now. A long day and night ahead of me.
