Part of Me Wishes I Would Have Kept It

My father passed in December of 2016. At the time of his death, he resided on a 10 acre lot in the middle of Baldwin County, Alabama, about ten miles from the town of Robertsdale. It was a quiet place, quiet enough you could follow a single motorcycle for miles by sound alone. Quiet enough you could hear the roar of jet engines from the Navy Blue Angels demonstration squadron taking off for their Tuesday morning practices at the Naval Air Station in Pensacola, over 20 miles away.

The lot was surrounded by southern pine trees on three sides, but open to the south where you could see a neighboring farm separated by a dirt road consisting of red clay seen all over the Deep South. Further down, you could see another homestead where a horse resided. You would frequently see the horse drinking from that property’s pond.

There were several acreages along the gravel road that led to my father’s place. One owned two horses. Another had chickens and one of the most flamboyantly colored roosters I’ve ever seen. It would occasionally chase passing cars up the road, but usually it would carry the smoothest strut a bird could have.

This place was my father’s refuge. Where he moved away from the city he called home for more than 30 years. It’s where he felt safe, where he relaxed. He loved sitting on his back porch in the morning, watching the world wake up, seeing the dew turn into steam as the sun hit it, noticing the different birds and animals come to life. In many ways, his life simplified, which is something I think we all reach for as we get older.

The property was willed to my brother and I. We immediately sold it, splitting the profit three ways between the two of us and my father’s second wife, who was with him until he passed. That was the only inheritance I received and I burned through that money in a couple years for various reasons. It seems like a waste in retrospect.

Part of me wishes I would have held on to the place. In 2017, neither my brother or myself saw ourselves living there. My brother is happy living in California, where I don’t think he’ll ever leave. I was jaded with the South, mostly because of the political climate in the area. Over time, I’ve softened on that view. I still have the same value system, but I also realize where I live in Eastern Nebraska isn’t all that different and none of that has stopped me from wanting to be me. If anything, it’s made me more of me. Southern politics shouldn’t change any of that either.

Mid 30’s me wasn’t ready for the slow life of Baldwin County. Now, I’m more open to it, but I realize it’s not the most practical space for me. But, what about me in 10 or 15 years? A friend of mine and myself have discussed an openness to retreating down South. I know Pensacola like the back of my hand, so there would be an obvious comfort level there. But, I’m also attracted to northern Georgia, Tennessee or the Carolinas, especially because of the hills and mountains of Appalachia. This is the same kind of moves my uncle and cousin made, both long time Atlanta residents who moved to the suburbs and exburbs of the area.

Maybe that’s the long-term goal. To have a piece of land I can call home. One that’s quiet. One that speaks to me. One where I can hear the pine trees whisper to me as the breeze blows through them. A place where winter doesn’t hurt as much. I can adapt to the summers. What I know is more and more, I crave quiet, and that place would eventually be perfect for me.