Technically it's only about 237 miles, but that is farther than I've been from my family for longer than a month. And it's been five. I feel like I have lost all of my limbs, and my heart, and everything I have, all at once. Like undressing before a shower in the winter. I always knew how lucky I am to have such a bond with them, and it's more clear to me now than ever that I stayed because I was afraid of this separation, this vulnerability. I keep trying to convince myself that it's a good thing, a natural thing, a necessary thing, but it hasn't caught up to me just yet.
People we meet keep asking what brought us here, how we got here. All I can muster most of the time is...we aren't sure ourselves. We followed a feeling. We needed to unstick. We rented a truck, packed our tiny studio, and wound up in Woodstock, New York. The cat, the dog, the boy, and a lot of books. What ultimately brought us here was our never ending search for Home. That feeling that this is your place, these are your people. I have always felt that about Delaware but I felt that if I spent eight years in Philadelphia then I couldn't turn tail and go home. Not right away. I felt (still feel), as though I had never really Tried. Never seen the world, taken risks, been brave. Brief respites into the beyond but never worked up the courage to move away from home. To find...a new home? That was the question, and here we are living the answer.
The Hudson Valley is a wild amalgamation of extremes - abject poverty, breathtaking beauty, simplicity, and heart. The people who live here seem to cobble together lives based purely on whatever they can make of themselves. They darn socks, they paint pictures, they paint houses, become garbage men, farm, cook, and create their realities so that THIS is their reality. The mountains and the rivers infuse every aspect of life here in a way that I have never known nature to be so present. In Philadelphia we lived alongside one another, the city and I. It was a waking reminder that I had very little control, and so I created a space filled with warmth, food, and as much love as I could. Here, I feel very much as though we are guests in these hills. That at any moment the rain or the snow or the bears could bring a not so gentle reminder that they were here first. And it's true. And it should be true. But it has taught me humility, and only a handful of snowflakes have fallen. I wonder what winter will bring?
