Leaving Home

The bookshelves are empty.












While I've been gone

biking across America




KC has been packing up the old family home.

KC!

Take the bed.

Pack away the clothes.

But, please, leave me my books!

We don't need this big old house anymore.













The three girls are in college.


Tom, the boy and
Dusty have moved an hour away to Fishers

so TJ can go to HSE...

It's just me, two dogs and a Stubby-cat left in New Castle.

The movers come...

They take away the kids' beds.

What's left behind?

The stuff under the beds....



(sounds like a horror movie)

A lone sandle

A jigsaw puzzle

A guitar book for a boy who never learned guitar.

Nicky -

the single boot

a flashlight

and a green box I dare not open.

KC left a ton behind....

Beauty and the Beast

and Mountain Dew.













Al?

There's nothing there...

But don't worry.

I have a wonderful place to move in New Castle.

The Little House.

Built in the 1800s - it was too small for our big family.

We bought it because it was on The Land - 33 acres of farmland that we've converted to nature.














All my books are there now.

I have a bed.

...and a desk.

All I need is internet access and I'll be happy.

Won't it be wonderful to wake up in the morning surrounded by prairie?

But this morning my sunrise is at the airport.

KC has said good-bye to her kitty.

She is off to ASU in North Carolina.

Studying Arabic and business.

Quite the combination.

Nicky is leaving for IUPUI in Indianapolis.


I expect we'll see her when she runs out of groceries.

Al is still on the east coast visiting with friends.

TJ is off to HSE...



Tom and Kitty eat breakfast in peace.

Indiana sunrise

The sun rises in Indiana...

I've watched the sun rise in

Oregon

Idaho

Wyoming

South Dakota

Minnesota

Wisconsin







Michigan

Canada

New York

Vermont

and New Hampshire







And while I was watching all those distant dawns...

....the world turned.




The sunrise is a moving target...

When I left in June, the Indiana sun rose at 6AM.

Battling the sun's heat, I would set the alarm for 5 so I could be on the road by early light.

Now the sun and I sleep till 7.

Back in June I would watch the sun rise over the back yard pond...

With my home like the center of a sundial, the sun has spun around like the hours...

...and now rises over the sidewalks out front.

I start out on my first bike ride back home in Indiana.

On Phoenix.

My white Serotta is still with UPS.

The roads are familiar but something has changed.

The Indiana hills no longer cry out for my granny gear.

My usual rest stops sigh as I spin past.

I don't need them anymore.

But other things have changed.


Where I used to see the bluebells' bright colors...

I now see dirt.

Huge jaws have ripped out the delicate blues...

...the better to lay down pipe for the city.

I didn't even get to say good-bye.

And down the road, where there was a forest full of birdsong...

...is now bare ground.

I'm so glad I had dinner last night with Barry, head of Red-tail Conservancy.

He told me they've been asked to help conserve 240 acres of riverside woods near Richmond.

And they've raised $89,000 to buy Camp Munsee with its 75 acre forest.

(they need $150,000).

We lose land every day.

Flowers my grandchildren will never see.

But groups like Red-tail are working heart and soul to save places of natural beauty still left in this country.

Bless them all!

I bike back towards home.

What's that bit of color in the road!

A butterfly - injured.

It flutters weakly as the cars whoosh by - unheedful.

I stop Phoenix and kneel by the curb.

Gently I use a leaf to scoop up the little fella.

(I've been told not to touch their wings because it damages the surface.)

I set him gently on the grass.

He lies there.

No more flutters.

The colorful wings lean against the grass unmoving.

A moment of silence.

At least his colors will fade on soft green grass...

...instead of the rough gray concrete of the road.

"Save the land" spins in my head as I pedal the last mile home.



You can't do it all, but do what you can, I tell myself.

Plant a tree...

Protect an acre...

Teach the little ones...

I return home to my prairie...





The sun sets in Indiana.