Letting Go of The Get Away Place

There’s a patch of land tucked away in Sontag, Mississippi, that holds more than memories—it holds legacy. Many years ago, my father built a home there, block by block, using handmade concrete. It wasn’t just construction; it was devotion poured into every inch of every wall. After our family moved away, my grandmother made that house her own, filling it with the smells of country-cooked meals, the rhythm of rural life, and the love and gentle wisdom of lived years.

The old house pictured here is gone now, long since torn down. But when my wife and I purchased the property a few years back, it wasn’t just a real estate transaction. It felt like coming home to a place that had shaped generations, like revisiting a chapter that had quietly waited to be reopened.

Walking around that yard always stirred something in me. I could almost hear screen doors slamming, the squawk and cackle of chickens wallowing in the dust, and my grandmother’s voice floating through summer air. That kind of sacredness isn’t visible—it lives in the soil, in the flowers, in the shade of familiar trees, in the heart’s soft ache for what used to be.

Now we’re letting it go. Selling the land. Selling our Get Away Place. Moving on. And while the decision may seem practical health-wise, the grief feels deeply personal. It’s a kind of homesickness for a place that no longer exists—but still lives in us.

Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It means honoring what was by carrying it into what’s next. 

Be blessed! -wcd