That time has come again. Just as I have begun to plant myself here; to let my feet mold into the desert earth, to let myself drink that rambling river water, to let the Red-tailed Hawk perch on my branches and the coyote rest in my shade; my time has come to be transplanted to another home. This sense of place and notion of belonging has pre-occupied my thoughts as of late.
As I start to pack up our little straw bale river cabin I find myself hanging on to certain items. Hanging onto them for comfort. Hanging onto them for strength. And hanging onto them for…well just for something to hang on to. I always dread this part of moving…choosing what will stay and what can go. I do not thrive on materialism, but I am fond of my small collections. Fond of items with meaning and stories attached. Items filled with love from friends and grit from the earth. I want to have it all, and often wonder if that is too much?
As PB and I went on our last little Idaho jaunt, I could not help but feel overwhelmingly attached to this space, to this land and to this notion of living. What is it that has zinged my spirit and sparked my creativity? Is it really this place, or do I have the ability to make any ‘place’ my home? I know what sort of environment suits me well, what sort of place I choose to firmly plant my roots and really let my wings soar free.
One of wide-open spaces,
dirt filled views,
and muddled jasper skies.
One where mountains reach for the sky straight from the earth,
rambling rivers and large hoofed Moose,
where wild Mustangs leave a trail of dusty loam clouds,
and neighbors share tales of days over sweet-tea and freshly brewed beer.
One where I can pack my bicycle with crafts and produce,
wave to my doctor and his wife,
set free my pig-tailed braids,
and not see another soul for miles.
I have this fondness of loving deeply. Of attaching myself to the present moment. Of remembering the good times and letting go of the bad. I will always be a dreamer, a wanderer and soulful spirit. So, yes, I do think I can make any place my home. I really think I can let my bare roots be transplanted to new soils, and thrive just fine there. Just as a seedling makes his transformation of life through sapling to lumbering forest giant, I too can tamp down my roots and set free that moment of growth yet again. But, given the choice, I will always choose the wild place…the place that lights that spark within.
Set your bare roots. Unfurl your plume. And let that wild in you grow.