“How does it feel to be a homeowner?” is a question I’ve been asked a lot lately.
Caleb asked me last night, after we got back to our new place. We’d just spent some time crying at our old place, the sunny rental house with soft, clean carpet and rooms empty of furniture, but full of memories.
I gave him my most honest answer yet, “Meh.”
“Oh good,” he responded. “You’re feeling the same way I am.”
You can read more about our conflicting feelings about moving here.
Today, as I wander the yard tending my plants who also endured the move, I look at and try to listen to the land. I pay my tax to the mosquitos who live here, only two bites this time. It sinks in that I am also a landowner. As soon as it sinks in, it makes me laugh.
Owning land is a strange idea. I think a lot about the history of this slice of the planet I call home. It used to be prairie, part of the plains. It was (and is) near a river. It had softly rolling hills. Animals roamed it, wildflowers and innumerable edible plants grew abundantly.
The land has been here for hundreds of thousands of years. Our house is close to 70 years old. While we may be the owner on paper, we are really just the dwellers. We inhabit the house and care for the land. This carries a sense of responsibility. We are going to ask our little slice of land to help us do some things, like collect rain water and help us turn our food scraps back into earth. We’ll put up a clothesline and plant food. But the land is also asking something of us. And so, we also listen and try to hear what it’s asking us to do.