Phillip and I were perplexed, confused. The patch of grass from the front gate to the front door never truly heals…It never grows the same length as the rest of the lawn. We couldn’t possibly have done that much treading.
But, despite that, we’ve often thought of putting some kind of pathway there made of stones that lead home. We’ve thought of French drains, or random concrete. It is strange to report that buying rocks and stones is expensive, odd when you have to say that you don’t have the money for rocks and stones….
Perhaps, maybe….something might be down there? Something obstructing growth? Something hiding. We were already outside pulling weeds from the fern hedge when Phillip grabbed the garden rake, walked over to the path with curiosity and just started hammering into the ground.
“I feel concrete!”
Our eyes went adventurous. The thirteen year old boy in us jumped out and played for a while, digging and hunting as though we were looking for buried treasure. Phillip dug for hours, using nothing more than his hands and enthusiasm to pull out 10 large round paving stones from at least 6″ beneath the ground. We laughed the entire while, grinned like gremlins when we found another. And at the end of our hunt we had found the pathway we were looking for. They had been there the whole time. We felt as though we had found Stonehenge. 🙂
Funny, that in the process of trying to bring this beautiful old darling back to her regal self, that she should leave hints that some of her beauty is already here, just hidden beneath years of being forgotten. The gem of this house is that she smiles as she yearns to be herself again. You can feel that energy when you walk up to the front door. You don’t want to demolish and disrupt. Instead, you feel this desire to find and polish her eccentric charm covered by many years of overlook.
Sometimes digging deep can reap tremendous rewards, I heard my poetic self say. Then the prose part of me just wanted to write and relish in how this house and I talk to each other…. Then the better part of me found solace sitting on the front step with my husband in silence, both of us just smiling, enjoying this crisp new autumn air, watching those that stroll on Saturdays streaming by pushing strollers.
No better word has ever been uttered than when Phillip simply said, “home.”
And the whole episode reminded me of this shawl I’ve been working on for a week. The shadowy depths I went into when making this shawl were interesting for my soul, because I felt I wasn’t going to find my way back out of whatever shadows remain untouched…. But, much like what Honeychurch taught me about the stones, everything I needed for a pathway to home is already here. Ironically, I just needed to dig a little to find some solid ground. And in order to do that, I really need to step away for a minute, if I can?
I’m going to be honest. I need to sell a few things in my shop so that I can take a moment for myself. I think I need to take a second away from the strange sways of the internet and focus on my life. I need a minute to sit dirty, sweaty, hands clutching weeds next to my husband and whisper, “….home.”
I may have never become a monk, but I certainly have remained monastic. I think my buried pathway to home is a little bit of silence. Just a touch, not forever. I just need to hear something in my heart again, if that makes sense. Something that doesn’t echo resentment, but comforts like a cat’s purr. I need to clean out all the conflicts in the shadows of my soul, dig deep, pull out the weeds that keep me from blooming, and find those stable stones that will lead me safely home. I just know something good will happen.
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