“The word ‘home’ summons up a place–more specifically a house within a place–which you have rich and complex feelings about, a place where you feel, or did feel once, uniquely at home, which is to say a place where you feel you belong and which in some sense belongs to you, a place where you feel that all is somehow ultimately well even if things aren’t going all that well at any given moment.” (Buechner, The Longing for Home)

A trip to Alabama, no banjo on my knee. My sister, Phyllis, who met me there, suggested I record the details—be as aware to each moment as I could.

I stopped in Virginia after crossing over the bridge from Maryland. The scene like a dream, arc of bridge emerging from the mists. I felt such sadness at the thought of moving far from the Chesapeake Bay. Though I don’t live right on it anymore, since the hurricane, I still know it is close by, can feel it. Such an important character in my evolution. The year I moved to live on it in my mind is the point that I began my movement toward soul and Self. So I stood awhile imagining in a few months saying good bye to it. Feeling the cool damp on my face, listening to the gulls call.

Next stop for gas, where the sight of an old black dog on the back of a pick up squeezed my heart. It was pretty cold out and windy, but he wasn’t complaining about his hard exposed spot in the open truck bed. Just glad to be with his person, waiting for him to come out, as he did, Cheetohs and Coke in hand. Such faithfulness deserves better in my way of thinking.

Away from Bay and on to mountains. I’m not sure what to make of that change symbolically for me. I like mountains, at least the smaller gentler ones, but I don’t have so much of a feel for them, affinity for them, as I do water. It may be just because I haven’t lived with them yet.

By the time I got to Knoxville, I was wondering how the hell I ever thought I was going to do this drive in one day. It was dark, my back was screaming, I had no idea how much longer I had to go, and I was feeling pretty freaky. So I exited thinking maybe I’d get a room and just lay down awhile. But the room at the Holiday Inn was so dreadful, a sore back would have been better. However I”d seen a Thai food place across the road, and thought I’d just walk over there and check it out. Some nice spicy soup might perk me up. The place was fabulous, brand new, and full of good smells and soft light and wood floors. While my food cooked I walked around the strip mall feeling like I was in the twilight zone. That combo of orangey lights, too much driving, and being somewhere I’d never been. Looking in windows at ladies getting their nails done, and couples learning to ballroom dance. I spotted a better looking hotel across the street and went over and told them I’d like to see if their beds were any better than the Holiday’s. The woman started laughing and promised me they were. AND, bonus, they owned the Holiday too so she got them to switch me. So I decided to stay the night, ate my Thai food , with a bit of rum, that I’d brought along, and thus ended first day of the trip.

Got up early while still dark, Starbucks coffee with a shot of espresso in hand, and hit the road. Was going through Chattanooga as the sun was coming up, and the mist was swirling through the mountains. Numinous, bringing forth reverence even from my tired self. If traffic had not been so bad, I would have pulled over for photos. Traffic!! No matter where you go, there you are.

As I pulled into the bed and breakfast where we were staying, there was an “ahhhhhh” sensation. Good energy on that property. Big old plantation house with ancient trees and pasture all around. And how could I not like a place where the Tiger’s Inn is next door?

It was so good to see Phyllis, though I have to say it did not feel like it had really been 2 years since I’d seen her. We stay connected enough by phone, that it didn’t feel like that big of a deal—didn’t feel like “ohmygosh it’s been so long”. So that was nice really, because then it’s not so bad when you say goodbye either.

I won’t go step by step through the next two days, just the highlights. I really did like the place. It is very slow paced—not a lot going on. But a nice sweet feel to it. The mountains there more like foothills, rounded, accessible, easier. At sunset the trees soften them even more with a feathery cinnamon furze. Like you could reach out your hand and brush the surface it would be soft. Our hosts were really sweet—the pictures everywhere very dear, like the one of the snow-cat (instead of man) dad had made for the daughter, and daughter as little girl in cat Halloween costume. “She always has loved cats”, he said smiling. And there was a resident cat of course—not theirs but the neighbors.( Though there was a plate of food out for her.) Little mincing mee-u-ing white pixie faced cat. An approach-avoidance kitty, who would get close and then flit away when you tried to pet her. Phyllis and I sat on the huge wrap around porch awhile talking and eating eggs—well she sat, I lay on my belly in the sun. And we did a little stretching/yoga—Phyllis commenting that maybe I could teach a class outside here if I lived nearby.

We sat by a waterfall in the sun on big broad warm smooth stones. Ecstasy. Absorbing water sounds, mist, solar heat on skin, scent of cedar. That scent permeated the air everywhere we went—exactly like the place I visited in northern California. They told me there it was a combination of cedar and oak. Like the finest incense. The water before the falls trippy druid green, reflecting trees, mesmerizing and soothing me. Forget looking at houses, I just wanted to sit THERE all day. But we dragged ourselves away, since I did want to see if my home might be lurking somewhere. If it is I didn’t find it, though saw some nice places. But none of them had the energy I’m looking for. It’s so hard to stay with my knowing that that is critical to me—to have a certain vibration to a place. It’s very hard to explain that to a real estate agent:) We saw one mind blowing property right on a river—to sit on the porch and hear it rushing was divine. As was the cave right on the property. Ohmygod, to have my own cave. That had my heart thumping. But there were so many downsides to the place—it was like a safari to get there, the house was scary—looked structurally not sound. Etc. I hate being sensible, but this was even beyond my ability to pretend. It made Phyllis and I both sad though—to see such magnificence not really being appreciated—that place should be somebody’s temple.
To get to it we drove through a dude ranch and saw a bull with horns that just didn’t seem right to me. Like why would there be such things? Sometimes I think Nature is either in a joking mood, or just gets it wrong. Also saw too many places where trees are being chopped down at an alarming rate, too many lumber trucks, too many bulldozers. Is there ANYWHERE you can go that we’re not ripping the hell out of the earth?

Had lunch at a cool little café—the Wildflower Café ,and met the owner, a fascinating woman. Mellow bright earth lady, who makes sensuous oils and delicious herb teas. I bought the patchouli/sweet orange oil and rubbed it right away onto my arms. She told us about the area saying she’d never loved anywhere so much. She had actually lived in the woods off the land for 3 years and was now trying to put some things together to teach sustainable living and reverence for the earth to kids. I liked her, felt at ease in her presence.

In the evening we sat under one of the huge old trees and drank some wine and talked. I walked around taking photos, pulled in by the power of the place. There were zones that felt like sacred ground to me. One big old oak’s energy went straight to your heart with a thump. There was a sign near it where another tree had fallen in a storm—a tree under which Sequoyah had taught his alphabet. And a train comes right by the property every once in awhile, the power of it surging up into your chest, and discharging with the long wailing “woooooooooo” of horn.
As the sun went down, the mixture of mint green pasture, and deep green cedar, and cinnamon/coral haze had me in a trance, walking camera to face without really even looking where I was going. “That’s an electric fence, you know” the owner called out. Yes, I did. But thanks. There is something so soothing about watching cows graze in big open green spaces. The smell of them, all the farm smells and sights. Hay, gates dripping dew, barns.
We ate in the room, a combination of microwave popcorn, grilled chicken from a local hole in the wall diner (Shorty’s), leftover thai goodies, and rum. Did a tarot card reading and talked more. Surrounded by the ghosts of two centuries. Looking out over the snowflake Christmas lights of the little town.

We decided to load my car the night before I left since I was leaving so early in morning. We paused for a moment looking out over the pasture. It was so quiet, so still. The stars clear and crystalline bright. The mist hugging the earth, gliding along her surface. This pregnant moment—like something was about to happen, like something was about to walk onto the stage of that one spot of the pasture lit by a pole light. The light swirling, hazed by the fog. For some reason the scene from Mary Stewart’s book about Merlin popped into my mind—where Merlin has a dream that isn’t a dream about Mithras—the huge bull walking into the moonlit hazy pasture. Phyllis saw a Pan-like creature, like a statue we’d seen that day in a garden. The spell went on as we both breathed in the moment. A lot of magic in that place.

I don’t know if Alabama will end up being the place for me, but I am glad I went there. It felt like a necessary part of this path I’m on. I’m kind of leaving it up to the Fates at this point. I have my circle drawn, from Asheville to Mentone, and will see within that circumference where my house shows up. I lay in bed in the mornings every day and just stay open, let myself feel if there is a pull, and letting my own desire go forth—in hopes the attraction will begin to pull us together.