My son and his wife live in the woods... the real woods. No houses in sight, trees by the thousands, the property is one big ten acre compost heap. I have been here visiting for the last week, wandering here and there in 30 degree weather, collecting kindling for the fire, looking at streams, mushrooms and cardinals with my baby grandson. What a trip! I actually think I could live in a place like this. One day slowly drifts into another. The house is mostly windows with few wall holding it up. If you're in the kitchen, one of the bedrooms or even the bathroom, the woods creep in on you. It makes one stop, take a breath, and be grateful for life. I actually think I might be able to write a novel in this house, whose nearby stream has become a small river, overflowing its beds. I tried to walk down to the stream the other morning and was stopped by the depth of the mud in the marsh above it. You just don't deal with that kind of stuff in 4 bedroom houses in suburbia. The roof of this house is made of metal. Just now the rain is tap, tap, tapping on it, like a very mellow bongo beat... making you want to stand up, close your eyes, and sway back and forth.
My son left home at seventeen to go away to college. He's now approaching thirty-five and is an amazing brand new stay-at-home dad. These visits to North Carolina to visit my grandson, have been a great way to reconnect with a son, who has been so independent, for so long. He's so comfortable in his "own territory", as he and beautiful wife try to make their way. Only time, without any real work for me, would allow this to happen.
