We moved south about 6 years ago. We were living in a vibrant, but crazy, old Italian man’s rental in upstate NY for 6 months. It was a tiny two-room flat with a rickety ladder leading to the attic space. Outside, a small porch was filled with all the plants we could carry from our previous addresses. Once, I was surprised to see a little black bear bury its nose in some scented geranium’s leaves.

We had moved south together once before, landing in Georgia for a month, and bouncing into Florida for four more, but neither place proved right for us.y So we trudged back to NY, hoping it might work out better this time, in our desperate search for land to grow on. 

Instead, I found a job as a gardener that somehow required a two mile walk – uphill – each way.  I still couldn’t drive at that time. Just didn’t know how. Sam tried a few gigs working for other people – an electrician here, an insurance building contractor there, a McMansioneer, and an engineer. He would always thrive at doing his own thing, though.

We got married in that time, a small ceremony under some ancient pines standing around a large pond. I learned how to drive.

Returning to our second move South, it had its hiccups. A month into the stay with my in-laws, the winds swept us to a small hotel room instead. It was this time of year. I had a small suitcase kitchen set up, and cooked us breakfasts and dinners of oatmeal, salted pork, spaghetti, rice, beans, pierogies, etc. We ate a lot of garlic and drank a lot of chamomile-tulsi tea. I slimmed down. Sam was working 2 jobs, and I stayed in that room with our cat, studying plants and gardening non-stop. 

Nearing a breaking point, we happened upon a rent to own on Craigslist. We verified its authenticity, and drove out. It was a long drive, an hour each way. The road itself was treacherous, banked by hillsides of rock and tumbling shoulderless into rivers and valleys. But the property was beautiful, magical, and better than a hotel room.

So we moved in. $900/month, plus utilities. The house had been built on a running icy stream, the foundation was cracked in the middle. The upstairs was unlivable. There was no heat. It was almost Christmas. The oven was broken, and the fridge was lined with dried rabbit blood. Black mold was crawling up from all the trim, along with giant spiders and mice. We slept on two broken air mattresses, which I lined with pine needles and old shirts to keep our warmth in at night. I washed our clothes for the 8 months we were there in an old tub, beneath a crumbling ceiling that housed a large snake, probably harmless. 

Sam spent his days off working the land. He created waterways that would spread in rivulets through the newly turned garden beds, and built an outdoor grill with giant crystals. He took the wood from that wretched rabbit hutch, and built a table fit for giants. 

I spent as little time as possible indoors, instead seeking out the plants I’d been studying, mentally mapping this wild wood, finding new delights nearly daily. Trout lillies, yellow violets, spring beauties, old ironwood twisting from the earth like wooden muscles. Ancient dead trees like giant hands, with sprawling colonies of ramps. Chickweed became a daily snack, a fried potato for lunch. I spent days sifting through the creeks, finding beautiful stones and crystals. I spent afternoons preparing an otherwise meager meal with our limited resources. Homemade pasta with wild greens and mushrooms became a common dish. We’d bravely scarf down forkfuls of boiled bittercress, breathing in the exhilaration of its odd medicine. 

We were realizing it wasn’t going to work out, but we had nowhere else to go. We’d even given up looking for a while. Then one morning in July, on the long drive to town, a car veered over the yellow line on the foggy road in front of us, launched off a shoulderless turn, and bounced on down into a spreading green valley. 

Sam pulled over safely, and ran back down the hill, yelling “hey Buddy, you alright?”. Coincidentally, his coworkers from one of his jobs were in the car behind us, and joined him. I was in a weird daze, having not seen any of it, somehow. 

I got out, uncertain, and heard more shouting. A quick look was enough to tell him the man was dead, and then they were shouting it to each other, trying to spare the view from the next person running down. Within minutes, the shouting had reached the man’s parents, and they had driven down. Apparently they lived very near, and had their whole lives. He hadn’t worn his seatbelt, having known that security, and it would’ve saved his life. It was a very sad scene, a very sad day.

I knew we couldn’t live there anymore. I’d imagined the same thing happening to Sam every time he left for work, and couldn’t justify the risk. 

So we started house hunting again, and in a short time we found our match. Another rent-to-own at half the price, a third the acreage, and the house was on the verge of being condemnable. But five years of work in, woodland, gardens, poultry, and grazing animals, and I’d say we’re happy we found it.