Somewhere between the poplars and the pines an edge of a feather catches my eye. I bend to collect a freshly fallen hawk feather, I take it as a blessing from the land. A final farewell, perhaps an acknowledgement of my leave taking.
The constant buzz of summer insects and crickets surround me as I ramble my way up the hill toward home. The sun beats on my back as my heart rate climbs with the incline. The Catskills are glorious in the summer, like cinderella in her ball gown, it is but a fleeting moment of spotlight before it retreats back to its soot laden state, ripe with isolation and solitude.
The mountains are meant to be a place of silence. Winters stretch for 6-7 months here. The ground a constant blanket of snow.
We are leaving this land for the small province of Lucca, Italy that stands between the Mountains and the sea. It has a different lifestyle and pace, naturally buzzy and relaxed, it is speckled with towers and cafes.. If these two places were friends at a party Lucca flits from one conversation to the next warmly connecting to the other party goes, while Vega Valley stands in a corner, happy in its solitude reflecting on how the others interact with each other.
As I imagine the landscape shifting in my mind, I anticipate how the landscapes will change me. My inner world is a constant state of curiosity and anxiety. My life’s work is to find the containers that I can breathe them into. What holds my curiosity? What quells my anxiety? What alchemizes them into reflections worth sharing? As a therapist, sitting in the constant streams of others minds I waver between over full and desperately depleted.
The new challenge I face is more personal, I must say goodbye to home soil. To the walls we reworked, the floors cut and laid, the furnishings chosen with intention. How do I begin to break this down? Who will I be without it?
I had not considered the process of deconstructing a home. I called the realtor out of curiosity. An invitation from a friend to. Consider selling. We kept hitting roadblocks and stalls with renters. We had too much to renovate still and not enough time before leaving for Italy.
Just a few weeks ago while sitting in a sun spot on the floor I look up at Mike and ask “What if we really consider selling? I feel done here, at least for now, and we do not know when we would consider returning.”
He smirks, slightly in jest, and the other half trying to pin me to my discomfort.”This is because you got into one argument at the coffee shop? One disagreement and we are putting the sign out? “
The disagreement he is referring to happened only a few days before. Waiting for my coffee in town and chatting with the barista, I was interrupted by a local woman. She points to the sign behind the counter and asks incredulous, “What is that supposed to mean? I don’t get it”
The coffee shop is known for its witty sign board behind the counter- todays sign reads : Things that keep me up at night : Coffee, Viagra, The supreme Court. The day before Roe vs Wade was overturned, and me and my reproductively challenged uterus are still pissed.
“ It’s just a funny board” The barista responds to her with a smile way more generous than I could ever be.
She looks at me “Does it keep you up at night?” Eyes begging for a fight.
“It absolutely does” I reply.
She remarks “You must live in the city- we think differently here”
“Actually I live up the road.” I reply with a smile.
“We need to have a round table with all you new people so we can tell you how it works here.”
“I don’t think I am in need of guidance. Thanks.” I reply my hands now trembling and an eruption happening beneath the surface. Anger pure, hot and relentless gripped me for my entire hour ride to an area waterfall and swimming hole. So much anger, some for her most not for her as but for the place our country finds itself in. The great divide, the loss of rights, the fear caused to those I love.
I swear this is not the only reason I wanted to sell the house. I will admit that it certainly triggered more serious action. Am I moving all the way to Italy to dodge an argument? Absolutely not. I just simply do not have the energy left to fight.
Back to sitting on the sun soaked floor I smile back at Mike. “ You know it is not just that argument. Im being serious.”
“I know.” He replies, his smile softens. “What is the harm of looking into it? I have been thinking about it more as well.”
“I will call tomorrow “ I say, “Its a new moon in Leo- It’s a good transit for me.”
He barely stops his eye roll in time, breathes and says “Okay love.”
My sturdy - earthen husband , has never been interested in magic, astrology, or spirituality. (So he says , though I know he secretly listens when I read him his current transits) These are systems I live and shape my life around. He will pretend to roll his eyes, but we both know he has noticed the patterns . Witnessed the success, and growth and comfort when I check in and work with the movement of the stars.
I wake up the next morning and message the agent referred to us by Mikes colleague. She asks if we can hop on a call - and before I know it we are scheduled for an in person meeting later that afternoon. Peggy arrives , a tall blonde with a southern twang and a wide eyed genuine smile. I like her instantly.
We apologetically explain we will finish the guest bath- we are painting the exterior, the deck railings will be finished soon etc etc..
She’s waves her hand “I wouldn’t bother with any of that. Except the railings, finish the railings.” She tells us we have done a wonderful job with the house- the interior and the design will photograph well. Actually she has her favorite photographer coming this weekend- might we be available to photograph the house then? Mike and I look at each other and come to a silent agreement- we both like her- we are both interested- and a little shocked. We schedule the shoot- and a time to sign paperwork and get the house listed. This was July 28th- The house was listed on August 2nd, we had 13 offers, and by August 10th we were in contract.
We were ready, we weren’t ready. It moved so quickly. What’s that they say about ripping the bandaid off quickly to feel less pain? I think that is an apt metaphor here.
We settled into the deconstruction like we always do. Me avoiding, sleeping more, wandering rooms in various states of overwhelm. While Mike pieces it together. Like the conductor of a wild orchestra of anxiety. He waves me into place, with small bitesize tasks. We pack, we take breaks, we cook our favorite meals one last time in the kitchen we built perfectly for us. Chicken soup, rice bowls, pasta, and stew. We eat well in those last few weeks.
The furniture will stay, so we fit our belongings into one 5x10 storage unit and two car trips to our airbnb. The last two spaces to be packed are my alter and the kitchen. I hold off as long as I can. I roll my various crystals and candle sticks into towels and bubble wrap. I sit on my yoga mat and look out the window - a rainbow bright and glorious stretches across the sky. For the first time tears come to my eyes. I have done so much internal work from this space. I feel like I must have tethered a piece of myself here for all eternity. Hours of meditation, journaling, introspection and careful planning for what is to come. It all happened here. I sit here every morning with my coffee. My heart breaks just a little.
The kitchen packs away with less emotion as I am shipping my favorite items to Italy. It brings me comfort to know stews and soups will be cooked in the same pots I have cooked in for years.
Now it is time for a final pass through of the house. Mike leaves to bring the first carload of items to our little Airbnb, and I clean. I try to imagine the cleaning akin to everyday magic. A sacred ritual, the washing of the feet. I show my reverence and gratitude for these rooms with the vigor of my scrub.
As I bend over the last tub, scrubbing with a sponge I fall to my knees and the sobs finally escape. I cry not because I feel regret, but because I feel both grief and joy. I mourn the loss of this version of ourselves, and our relationship. It was a time of intense closeness. Through the challenge of silence we learned to love one another differently. More wholly, more holistically.
I hear the front door open, and a gentle “Babe? Where are you?”
“In here,” I choke out.
No words are needed, he pulls me in. I cry until the tears naturally turn from streams to mist. We quietly pack our cats into their carriers, and walk through the space one last time. We step out onto our deck and take a few pictures standing in the corner with the mountains behind us. We each take videos and pictures of the house to remember it and step out the front door carrying our cats. Mike walks down to the center of our front yard his back to me I watch him take big deep inhales as his arms raise above his head. I see him communicate with this land, the land that found him one final time.
We get into the car and pull out of the driveway.
“I feel like I am going to be sick.” He says
“Me too.” I say
We reach for each others hand. He turns right at the bottom of the drive and left down the steep hill out of Vega Mountain Valley one final time.
“On to the next one “ I say in a whisper.
“To the next.” He echoes
And just like that. We begin again.
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