The moon rises high. Snow-lit silver against the early evening midnight blue Ohio sky.
The air is still frosted and biting cold though the calendar says it's late April. A sweetness I can almost taste is in the slight wind that sweeps up from the lake below. Chilly sounding little frogs fill the air with a hopeful springtime chorus. "Peep Peep Peep Peep" they echo one another, brave cold little creatures.
Poor small things woke from their long winter sleep expecting spring and instead were greeted with freezing cold nights and fitful snowy days, not the warmth they must have hoped for.
Far across the valley I hear the traffic headed north on the interstate. When I was a little girl I would lay in my bed, listening to that same traffic and long to be able to hurry along with them. To go far far away from the sorrows that seemed to fill my small world. I'd listen to the lonely sounds of the big trucks headed north to Canada past vast storm-tossed Lake Erie, impossibly deep and uncrossable.
I've finally come full circle. After traveling that very interstate many years and miles ago, I did find that escape, that new life and went to live on a sea island off the coast of South Carolina for two long sun-filled decades.
But the longing for home never leaves us does it? Even homes that were filled with sadness had their measure of love and yes, their need of forgiveness and the mending of old wounds. The healing of old scars.
And so I came back, fiercely reluctant at first. Back to the aching cold winters and vibrant green springs. To the valley where I was raised. Back to the very home-place and acres that I left long years ago, vowing it the last place on earth I would ever want to live again. My parents old farm, which was large enough to divide me my own spot to build a life, or perhaps rebuild one.
I had almost stopped writing this sort of missive.
The intricacies of WordPress finally defeated me and for long months I refused to enter that jungle of technology and instead puttered happily with my peppermint cleaners and sweet puppy's breath. I found myself missing a place to write about the beauty of life and the pain. The gift of being able to share this country life with the readers I had come to love. I found myself on nights like this one, thinking about words and writing sentences in my head that would float insistently into my thoughts of how to make the scene live for those of you who might also need a breath of sweet spring air to blow away the dust of a long winter past.
And so God had a plan, though I long fought long with Him about it and declared I knew best.
(and not He who knoweth all things)
He had a plan for a new home we would call Foxglove Farm, a new life which has brought more peace and joy than I could have imagined.
He had a plan which included much healing and happily, yes, the dogs that I love, and a beautiful country home and my darling John to share it with.
And yes, His plan included one very special small dog named Agatha...