We are slowly awakening from hibernation, stirring from a deep, cold sleep. The frost has disappeared, replaced by explosions of color here and there. Cherry blossoms, daffodils, forsythia, weeds…showing off like children with a newly-learned trick.
Here we are, there we were. What is this thing called time that fades, pushes, drags, and makes us grateful and surprised at its progression.
Our hot, dusty, fun experience at Floyd Fest’s 9th run –my first festy.
All photos: Nancy Harder
Low Anthem playing on Saturday, July 24
Couples in the Beer Garden
Tennessee Boltsmokers: my favorite band at the festival that I had never heard of before
Old Crow Medicine Show-My favorite band of FloydFest9. Top 5 favorite bluegrass band even before festival. So stoked to see that they were even better live.
So blissed to hear "Wagon Wheel" live--the song we danced to at our wedding.
Welcome Gnomes. (Photo by: Nancy Harder)
It’s already warm.
The movers will arrive in the next half an hour to unload all of our furniture, books, loved random bits, and even more loved 5’8″ Yamaha grand piano and ca. 1940 Kimball console.
It’s bittersweet, saying goodbye to my friends and hometown to begin again. Life is the most vivid and heartfelt in the transitions, like in music.
I notice grass growing through the cracks of the brick pathway as we walk up to our front door. This last time I saw this house was in the wintertime. We closed on an icy day in a conference room filled with particle board and gray suits.
We stop before we unlock the front door — our front door.
Sitting on the left side of the porch are two welcome gnomes. They look cheery, wise, ready to chant or laugh. It’s a gift from my in-laws, excited we’re moving a block away from them. I grin at my family-in-law’s whimsy, happy for their thoughtfulness.
Yet, the gesture makes me grateful on a higher level. There’s something special about being welcomed.
Welcoming feels like more than a commercial ply or social nicety. When genuine in spirit, it’s a receiving of another in this space and time wherever they may be in their own inner location.
It’s a gift given like the Hindustani/yogi namaste greeting.
“The spirit in me honors/sees the spirit in you.”
Our presence is the greatest present we can give. Thich Nhat Hanh says that “when mindfulness embraces those we love they will bloom like flowers.”
The house seems to welcome us as we guide the movers around. I imagine the house sighing, relieved that someone is finally here after an empty, lonely year.
The movers sweat, pulling from their core as they hoist my grand piano through the door and hold it in the air as one of the three men screw in 1…2…3…piano legs. We chastise ourselves for not having anything but water to give to the guys.
I hear an odd sound. The first doorbell of any home I’ve lived in since moving out of my parent’s house at 17.
An older woman and man stand by our front porch gnomes holding lemonade and a big plate of cookies and brownies, offering a welcome. Their eyes are aged with smile lines.
They introduce themselves as our next door neighbors and quickly make movements to walk away, saying they don’t want to take us away from our move.
I’m so appreciative for their lemonade, sweets, and kindness that I begin thanking them over and over.
The Jeffersons smile as they turn to stroll back down the brick walk. After a step, Mrs. Jefferson turns back, looks at me, and says, “you’re welcome.”
Zoey in our backyard. (Photo: Nancy Harder)
The grass grows fast here in Blacksburg, VA. Faster than the coastal plains of North Carolina. Sand and dune grass were more familiar to my feet growing up than socks or shoes or this dense Kentucky bluegrass.
I drink a local Star Hill Love out on our back porch and let my legs stretch out on the lawn. My feet tingle as blades of grass brush the insides of my toes.
The lush wild, green smell and the sound of nothing particular and everything in the world pulls me away from the confines of memory into the perfect present.
I understand those fabled victims of the Lorelei songstress as I mentally trace the outline of the blue peak in front of me. I understand why people never want to move away from here. I understand why my husband and I have come here.
Not for school, work, or family, despite their weighty influence.
Our souls longed to be sung to, to come to a place where we could breathe with all of our senses, to find a place where we could stretch out like some ole Virginia Creeper.
