The Consistency of Place

“The land doesn’t speak to you because you don’t stay in one place long enough to hear it”

It seems a lot of what I’ve written about recently stems from conversations with various friends from all across this country.

I don’t know that I’m talking to people more than I normally would, but perhaps life has slowed down enough to really be able to meditate on the things being said to the extent they deserve.

This is a paraphrased quote by a friend who mentioned this line from the book: The Practice of The Wild and it’s from a conversation with a Crow elder.

It struck a chord with me for several reasons.

While I have the constant pull of The Road on my mind and that’s a huge part of me, I’m also a life long Virginian. A born and raised Richmonder, and someone who grew up routinely going to the Chesapeake Bay and its surrounding tiny towns because I’m the #daughterofasailor.
I have immense pride in being from one consistent place and having the roots that I do.

I lived in #RVA for 25 years before I chose to make the bay my home in between my road dog life, and while it’s always been a part of me and felt like home, taking up residence here has made that more tangible.

When I came home in November from living a year on The Road, I really meant to be back just for a few months to catch up with loved ones, work on some writing projects and then get back out there.

And then the world fell apart.

Yet, in the midst of that I’ve had more ability to enjoy this place. Discover unexplored corners, notice things I’ve always driven past too fast, really get to know my neighbors and those who work in my community and appreciate the consistency of place.

I have been debating what to do in the coming months.
Whether to leave or stay.
What leaving would look like now that photo jobs have been cancelled and I’m unsure if @folkling could be consistent enough while being mobile to make ends meet and still trying to save for a place of my own.

And I’m still debating.

But I’ve been relearning the importance of home. That even in these times, or maybe especially so, pausing long enough to listen to the land and appreciate where you presently are is a narrative worth hearing.