I always say, “It depends on the day.”
As for Brent and Laurel, I hope they find what they were looking for somewhere else. I mean, more than some people expect me to. I hope you have built your retreat, cav in your water source on the land that was actually yours, and learned that rural places are not blank canvases that expect wealth to improve you. They are stories. They’re agreements. They are communities with longer memories than closing dates.
I don’t hate them.
But I’m grateful they’re gone.
A few months ago, I discovered that one of the old stones had slipped along the fence after heavy rain. I returned it and worked it in place with both hands. It was heavier than it seemed, rough against my palms, cool despite the afternoon heat. For a moment, kneeling there with red earth in my jeans and sweat running down my back, I felt my grandfather by my side so tightly that I almost turned my head.
