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
