The earth that shaped my life: a tribute.

Updated: Jan 16, 2022

It is said that grief is stored in ones lungs. As I am healing my own lungs, my childhood home keeps appearing in my dreams. For the last month or so, every night I am transported back to my family's beautiful land. If you know the Fox Family, you most likely know about Dorr Road. It was unlike anyplace I have ever been. Let me tell you about it, for in telling our stories, I believe we can heal our wounds.

"Take a right on Dorr then about half a mile down the driveway will be on your left. You'll have to look for it, it's pretty well hidden. Come on back about another half mile and you'll see our house. Can't miss it. We're the only ones here."

Turning into the driveway was like turning into a storybook. The forest hugged you from both sides as the gravel road took you up to the house. Halfway there, the land opened up to reveal the field of long grass with carefully maintained walking paths. Queen Anne's lace, dragonflies and dandelions were some of my favorite parts of walking those paths. Along with the frequent company of my kind hearted mother who taught me the value of taking walks. Our walks together are some of my finest memories.

Next came the tunnel of exquisite pine trees that lined either side of the driveway. An entrance beyond any landscaper's wildest dreams. One of these majestic beings was my tree. You could find me there on windy days, high up in my secret seat of branches. The bends and sways of my tree showed me that we spoke the same language. I miss those trees so much. In there lived chipmunks, birds and squirrels. The fox squirrels were especially cute and from the top boughs those little critters would toss giant pine cones down at you as you walked below. Chattering in their squirrel language, I am pretty sure they found the whole situation quite amusing.

One my 6th birthday we were headed to the zoo. Driving through the tunnel, my family found a baby crow that had gotten kicked out of the nest from way up in the pines. Enamored with all creatures big and small, we rescued it and turned the car around to go back to our own little sanctuary. Crowie Lump lived with us for a couple of years and I remember feeding him chunks of milk-soaked bread and dried worms and watching as my sister called him out of the tall trees to come land on her arm.

Our house sat along the ridge overlooking the lake. It was warm and inviting and my parents own design. The outside was a grey gingerbread appearance, the inside a wooden timber frame with spacious rooms and a cozy atmosphere. My mom's flower gardens and multiple decks surrounded the outside. My parking spot was by the merry-go-round and outdoor wood-burning stove. We had a proper front door but no one used it. Walking straight into the kitchen was like walking straight into a giant embrace.

If it was close to dinner time, my mom would have something delicious cooking on the stove, candles all around and music playing on the stereo. The living room lit up with the golden light streaming in through the trees and reflected off of the lake. Most nights it felt like a celebration.

There were definitely hard parts to my childhood and some of the memories of life at the lake weren't easy or pleasant. I am not aiming to gloss over those challenges. But after sorting through so much of my inner workings and challenges with my dad, I have come to a peaceful place of acceptance and am no longer focused on the hard parts. Sweet freedom at it's finest.

My parents had fallen in love with the property long before it belonged to our family and long before they had kids. My dad grew up spending his summers at the company resort on the adjoining lake. From the water, he wondered what it would be like to live there. I believe he even visited a few times while his friend was caretaking the place over the winters.

The family that owned it prior to ours lived in Florida but used it as their beloved summer paradise. The grandmother's name was Robeena and she was an angel. She became a fairy godmother to my parents and a dear family friend. Recognizing their shared love for the land, she eventually sold it to my parents in a land contract agreement. It took my mom years to actually believe it belonged to us. It was the chance of a lifetime. A true dream come true. A hidden gem with all of the features you could ever want in a piece of property. And it was ours! My family moved in two weeks before I was born.

Originally there was just a 3 bedroom log cabin on the land and a matching smaller bunk cabin for guests or storage. The Little House, as we called it. The main cabin was charming and romantic in the pictures, but quite a hassle to actually reside in. Uninsulated, dark, drafty, and home to a variety of other pesky creatures. The laundry machines were located outside and down in the damp and musty cinderblock Michigan basement. My parents spent 9 years raising three kids there and facilitating a spectacular childhood, all the while dealing with a host of issues. I have no recollection of my mom ever complaining back then, as trying as that must have been.

Over the years, my parents added two green pole barns, a horse pasture and a nice deck with an enclosed hot tub. As assortment of slides, swing sets and a sandbox appeared along the way as well as an excellent sampling of farm animals. When I was 10, we moved into our gorgeous new grey house that my parents had designed and built themselves. It sat right next to the old cabin because it was the best house site on the whole property. But once we had fully moved into our new house and had vacated the old cabin, my family tore it down.

I remember that day vividly. My dad on the tractor pulling load after load of logs to the burn pile. My mom desperate for an up-to-date home but nostalgic at the same time. For there was a simplicity about life in the cabin. A tangible pioneer spirit about the whole scene. Stories and memories and so much love had filled that old cabin right on up. I sure loved it.

My sister saved a few of the wooden pegs that had held the floor together and gave them to me as a gift a few years ago. I still have them in a little tin in my night stand drawer.

In high school, all I could dream about was moving away to the mountains. I had applied to several different colleges out west and even got accepted. But my parents denied my pleas due to the giant hike in out-of-state tuition and we settled on my remaining close to home. For years now I have wondered how different my life would have been had I attended college in Montana. Today I realized how many memories I would have missed had I been far away at school.

Throughout college, my homesick friends and I would head to my parents for a home cooked meal and respite from the drudgery of dorm life. Flopped on the couches with full bellies, we would soak up the medicine that was simply being near my family.

The medicine of being home.

I am so grateful I stayed close by.

Life keeps moving as it does and eventually my siblings and I all moved out. My dad had passed away and the upkeep on the place had become too much for my mom to do by herself. The time had come to let it go and the property went up for sale.

The night before the closing was my Mom's 70th birthday. We called in our family and friends for one final Fox Farm celebration. The Fox Farm parties were simply spectacular and deserve a story telling of their own. That perfect fall evening in September was my last time there. As the party came to an end, my sister said it was time to head to her house. She lived close to the airport and I was going to spend the night there to make flying back to Colorado easier the next day.

As I went inside to fetch my bag, a tidal wave of grief grasped me. I began to sob and collapsed onto the stairs. I didn't want to say goodbye. It was too much. Too hard.

How would I go on without being able to go home? My fingertips gripped the soft green carpeting as I tried to hold on just a little longer. Stumbling back outside empty handed, my face was puffy and a river of tears flowed down my cheeks. I had to stay one last night. My mom offered to drive me to the airport the next day. Everyone understood.

Sleep was difficult to come by that last night. I could hear the trees whispering to me from the windows. The lake as it lapped gentle waves along the shore. Eventually I fell asleep but the creak of the house and the smell of my childhood permeated my dreams. I awoke to the early morning sun peeking in, the angle of the light oh so familiar. It was time to go.

I packed my bag in silence. My head was loud enough. Memories upon memories flooded my mind. My eyes were almost swollen closed. But onto my flight I went. Back to my children and beautiful husband, to the mountains and to my own dreams. Upon my return to my sweet little family, I remember being unable to speak very much for quite a few days. My eyes eventually returned to their normal state and my heart embraced the life I had created once again. But the space in my heart for the land I so loved has never been filled even after all of this time.

I am coming to understand it doesn't need to.

One morning a couple of years ago my mom called to tell me that the new owners had taken the house down. I dropped my coffee. They had taken it down? You mean it is GONE? My heart broke in half. A new bigger, fancier house was to be built in its place. A new generation wanted something different, just as we had taken down the old log cabin to build our dream house in its place.

I woke up early this morning with tears in my eyes. In my dream I had been working in our old barn and had passed on the opportunity to buy the land from my mom. To keep it in the family. Could I have done something differently? Or was it divine timing to let it go? I have settled on the fact that it was out of my hands.

My husband and children knew my childhood home so well and therefore know me well. My dad lived and died for that place. His childhood dreams had come true there. For 30+ years mom poured her soul into our home and her love into the land. My siblings and I had a beautiful childhood raised in the wilds of our own backyard. I have plenty of photographs and so many memories. And most of all, I have the energy of the land running through my veins and that will never change, even if I cannot ever go back.

Thank you for reading my tribute to my childhood home. The earth that shaped my life.

By sharing the things that have broken my heart open, I hope to offer connection. Healing. Release. Understanding. Kindness. And self-compassion. For we have all experienced broken hearts. Isn't it time we were kinder to ourselves and to others during our shared time here together?

The story of my home on Dorr Road is one of the greatest love stories of my life.

There is medicine found in sharing our stories.

And I would love to hear yours.