Toward the end of 2023, I visited the home I lived in when I was just a newborn. My grandfather built it before I came into the world, and it has remained there, in the middle of 34 acres of dense woods, unlived in, and unloved for 35 years. My family always referred to this place as "The Farm." At one time there were horses, chickens, and hogs. My grandfather planted camellia bushes that line the now overgrown driveway. They're twice my height now, and were still blooming in December when I visited them. I cried when I saw them. I haven't seen those flowers since I was a small child, and my grandfather died when I was just 4 years old so any connection to him is precious. I found a fully-bloomed camellia on the ground and picked it up. It smelled just how I remembered-like a camellia, but with a hint of woodsy smell that only smells that way at The Farm.
Finding the house was not easy. The woods were so thick, the vines so wild and tangly and thorny! There was nothing to navigate by other than my own intuition based on what I was feeling were memories, stored in my body, of walking to the left, going for a while, and then curving to the right. I was right. I saw the shed where Grandaddy kept his little fishing boats. All three were still there, looking like they were waiting for him.
An old jeep, a Buick, and some other car I couldn't distinguish could be seen poking through woods and debris. I wonder if his blue chevy is out there somewhere. And the house. After twenty something years, I made it back to the house! The bricks were cool and damp and smelled like dirt and musk. The floors and ceiling were all caved in, having fallen victim to Hurricane Sally and the passing of time for so many years. Relics of my parents' past were strewn about inside. I ventured in only far enough to grab a piece of artwork off the wall and a basket to carry it in.
Before leaving the site, I grabbed a small brick that was located a few feet away from the house, thinking "Grandaddy must have touched this." I held it in my hands and imagined his hands holding it, then imagined holding his hand in mine. The walk out of the woods was without incident other than having a bit more difficulty making it out than I had making it in. Along the way, a piece of a tree limb fell off as I brushed against it, and it landed in my basket. I was glad a piece of the woods wanted to come back with me -those woods have always felt magical to me and are a portal to access the happier memories from my paternal side.
I don't have any family heirlooms from Grandaddy or Ottie Mae, "Granny", who raised me as much as anyone else did. So, I decided to make one for myself using the precious objects I’d secured from my visit to The Farm. I pressed a petal from the camellia I'd taken and decided to start there. Next, I shaved some bark off the piece of limb in my basket. The brick was important, so I needed to find a way to incorporate it. I carved at it a bit, causing some dust (or whatever you call the grit that falls when you grind at a brick), to fall from it. I had the perfect array of materials to represent my grandfather, but I needed something for Granny, too. Afterall, she was the one who bought the 34 acres of land, in secret, only telling Grandaddy much later. I’m told his sentiment was one of “Well, might as well build a house.” Years ago, a friend gave me a broken serving tray made in Brazil in the 1940’s. It was inlaid with blue morpho butterfly wings, and I extracted as many as I could salvage. The wings are so thin, a touch with a finger and they’ll disintegrate. Using some tweezers, I placed two tiny specks of wing into the pendant. Granny’s favorite color was blue. She loved blue! And she had the most beautiful blue eyes that lit up each and every time she saw me. Blue morpho wings are electric blue in the sunlight, and they light up whenever I tilt my necklace.