I ain’t been too sure how to write about this, maybe it’s ‘cause I feel like I’m letting all Southerns and even Wendell Berry down, or more likely it’s cause I’m still numb to it and only starting to feel typing these keys. But I sold the house we built in Nashville and we’re pointing West shortly.
If happiness is the onset of the unexpected good then I gotta give thanks for this home. 4 years ago we built it on a forgotten acre in the city no one loved, on a street no one walked. But now years later I can stand on my porch and see new families walking their dogs every morning and sad houses get new roofs and become homes.
I ain’t trying to take credit for making this place better, I don’t have enough sense to make these decisions. Somehow, you just get led to where you’re supposed to be, if you’re willing to submit.
The South is what made me and it is me. But even as a boy I never spoke of wanting to stay and take over my grandfathers farm. My mind was always off in the far West with John Wayne and the cactus.
I say all that so it will seem less odd or unrelatable for someone like me who has traveled relentlessly to talk about fear of leaving, I just didn’t want the South to feel like I abandoned it.