It is the nature here that has kept me grounded.
Kept me continually looking forward and focusing on the good.
I lived in Richmond my whole life, was born and raised in The Fan.
And then, after 26 years, I came out to the Chesapeake Bay. A place I grew up coming to for a similarly long period of time as my Dad is a sailor. So many spring, summer and fall nights were spent out on these waters. A few winter ones too.
It’s always been one of my homes.
And then I left for The Road.
And then I left again.
It kept calling me back and I kept answering.
Yet another kind of home.
But now I’m back here on the bay and now more than ever it feels like a respite and sacred place amidst the chaos of the world.
The Road still calls, and perhaps it always will. But this place, with its endlessly fascinating array of flora and fauna, is the needed anchor amidst it all.
I have now been here long enough, and in all seasons, to witness the varying cycles of the life that lives here.
I recognize the calls of the osprey and bald eagles and grey herons. Watch them all build their fortresses in the trees and on the pylons overlooking the water from fallen branches and dried grasses from the yard.
And how March brings daffodils and dandelions.
April fosters camellias and low hanging wisteria.
May greets buttercups and forsythia.
June grows tiger Lilly’s and road-side daisies and, best of all: magnolias.
And July—July has brought blackberries.
Which has been one of the greatest gifts in this season, discovering them all around the property. Because I’ve never been here during a July until now, and to witness such a constant thing despite my inconsistency and variation brings a kind of centerdness to me somehow.
It is in witnessing these tiny routines that I find solace amidst attempting to create my own.