Four Oaks

We spent the weekend putting up fence at Four Oaks, aka Oaklette; Grandaddy’s house; and a variety of other names. I call it home. When I put my bare feet into the grass there, I feel connected to it in a way that is difficult to explain. It is where I grew up. It’s where my father’s parents lived and died. It is the place where every one of the four kids I gave birth to lived out their babyhoods. I did, too. And my brother and sister and father as well. It is where I feel rooted. My niece lives on the other side of the marsh, just over the covered bridge. My cousin lives, next door, sort of. My dad is just a few minutes walk away. The shipyard is a 5 minute drive in heavy traffic. Ah. Home. Just a few more weeks and we will be there.

A few months ago my most secret wish was to be living back at Four Oaks by Christmas. Santa can come down the chimney. We can have a big tree. We can go to Grandaddy’s on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. The horses can spend the winter galloping through the pecans and pines and catching the cold winter breezes that whoosh down the river. They will grow hair as long as yaks. Maybe I’ll spin some of it. Oh, I’m rambling. The only yarn I’m likely to spin is this one, but still. We are all anxious to get home.
Don’t worry, Corapeake. We won’t let the door hit us in the ass.

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About Blue Eagle Dreamer

Shamanic High Priestess and facilitator of empowerment and healing circles for girls and women, including a monthly Red Tent Temple. BA in English, minor in anthropology. Waldorf homeschool mom. Reiki master, cranial sacral therapist, herbalist, menstruvist, feminist, epicurian.
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