After a mere ten hours on the road, we are home.
We took the scenic route and so the extra hours were to be expected and it was worth it. The road through the mountains, the cloud-route with the valleys and the tiny hollers with cabins and a patch of corn growing in the front yard- it's the journey that matters, not the destination, although the destination has been fine to reach.
I am home now where my chickens and my cats live. Where my garden is. Where my front porch plants are. Where my stuff is. Where my washing machine and my broom and my dustpan and my stove and my iron skillets live. Where my goddesses reside, the mermaids, the Madonnas, the Frida's.
All of my remaining chickens are fine and my house-sitter reported the other day that she saw two loose dogs, two doors down, one matching the description of the dog who killed my chickens.
I'm about to go apeshit on someone. I'm about to go I'VE BEEN TO CUBA AND I'M NOT PUTTING UP WITH THIS BULLSHIT ANYMORE on someone.
My chickens are free range chickens. Their ability to run in my yard makes them happy and healthy and makes me happy and healthy too. They are miserable in their coop and no chicken-killing dog has the right to keep them in there.
Mr. Moon has already gone out and picked beans and is shelling them. We shelled some beans last night at Vergil's mother's house. She is a real, true gardener. When Vergil and his sister were little, she fed them with what she grew in her garden and preserved and what her apple trees gave her and the goats that she kept, milked and made goat cheese from.
We of course are not that serious with our garden but it sure does bring us pleasure. A large branch fell on part of our garden during a storm that happened a few days ago but that's just part of it. Trees drop branches. At least we got rain.
It's always weird, getting home after being away. The cats come running up, the chickens must be checked on, the porch plants must be watered. I say that I have to pee in the corners to make it all mine again, and that, in a way, is true. Not literally, but metaphorically, at least.
I've put a few things away and swept a floor or two and have laundry going and have talked on the phone to a very old friend who left a message on Tuesday- so long ago that he'd almost forgotten why he called me. This is the friend who believes in astrology who read my chart once for me and told me that although yes, I am a Leo, I am far more Cancer, which would explain my love for home and all that entails.
It's hot. It's humid. The crickets (cicadas? frogs? all?) are so loud that I can barely hear myself think on the back porch. Once again, I have gone away and I have come back.
I had a great time with my daughter and her husband and their magnificent son, August Glinden. In the few short days I've been gone my son has publicly come out as a trans man and now I suppose I can write about that from the perspective of what it's been like, to think you've given birth to four daughters and to find that no, you have not. What an adventure that's been! Up until now, it's not been my story to write but now I suppose it may be. The bottom line to it all, of course, is that my son is the person he's always been and I've loved him from the moment I gave birth to him and always will. Gender is fluid but love for my babies is not and when people are expecting a baby and get that telling ultra-sound and announce, "IT'S A BOY!" or "IT'S A GIRL!" I think, well...maybe.
Just love, y'all. Just love.
And love with your heart and love with your muscles and love with your soul and love with your eyes and love with your bones and love with your brain and love with your hands and just love.
Right now, at this point in history, I think that may be the only alternative we have.
Do it strong and do it with all the lights shining upon it and when you see something that reeks of not-love, of hate, of darkness, speak the fuck up. And when you see something that is beautiful and true and light-filled and right, say so. And with loud crashing symbols, as the Bible says.
And let's not lose our sense of humor because without that, life ain't worth living.
It's been a busy couple of days ! Hank is cool and he is quite like his Mama with his way of writing xReplyDelete
None of this is any of my business of course, but it is so interesting to learn about people who have different experiences. When I read that he is trans on his blog, I had to go back and reread it to make sure I understood, as you've kept his privacy very well.ReplyDelete
Being transgender is something I don't understand. Gender has always been something I've sort of shrugged about, like "Oh, ok, I'm female, that's fine." And that's such privilege, to be born into a body that fits. So, it's so good for me to learn from people whose bodies and identities were mismatched.
So, big thanks to Hank for sharing, and looking forward to learning more.
You've given your kids that writing gene. Such evocative writers, you, May, Hank, each of your voices so whole, loving, true.ReplyDelete
Tell away, ma.ReplyDelete
When I come home from a trip, I have to unpack RIGHT AWAY and put everything in its proper place and get organized. Which I suppose is a way of peeing in the corners. I'm glad the chickens and cats and plants are OK and again, I would not hesitate to call animal control about your dog problem. That cannot be allowed to continue. (I'll call them from here if you want! Maybe that will throw your neighbor off the trail. :) )ReplyDelete
I was quite surprised to learn that Hank is a trans man, so you did indeed protect his privacy quite well. If only all LGBT people could have the great food fortune to be born with mothers like you to support them! How lucky Hank is!ReplyDelete
*GOOD...not food! Haha! But from the sound of your cooking food fits too, I guess. :)Delete
I'm so excited to read about your experiences with a growing up Hank! As the mom of a trans man, I've only met moms with trans daughters. I'm so proud of Hank and I can't wait to further read his posts and comments. I just got home from my trip to meet Birdie (and do other things, obviously) and I'm seriously thinking about coming back to blogging my own self.ReplyDelete
Is there a bylaw officer that can come and take these loose dogs to the pound?!
oh, yes, peeing on all the corners. I did the same coming home. had to put my touch back on everything. I love the scenic routes. the time you save on the interstates is not worth it. I'm having to catch up again. I let politics in when I wrote my last post and I've been OBSESSED since. well, until my daughter came in and figuratively slapped me upside the head.ReplyDelete
I didn't realise that Hank had come out in capitals on his blog - a momentous thing? I thought you'd just let that be his story, not one you were going to tell publicly. But now I understand your heartfelt compassion better. I'm glad you can talk about it publicly now because you do it so very well xxxReplyDelete
Oh, God. Those last paragraphs are just superb. Thank you for your light -- your perpetual light.ReplyDelete