Exhaustion

We've spent much of the last month shifting boxes and things. Some things were small, delicate and fragile, others were huge cumbersome beasts that threatened to snap us in half if we so much as breathed wrong.

It was the whole reason for this trek into the desert. A wise man, an elder, passed away and his granddaughter (honestly nobody really knows if they were actually related or not, but that's what she was referred to) decided to become a traveler. The village they lived in had died, and she was practically alone so it made sense. No one knew how old the elder was, but he always claimed his great grandfather was from the time before.

With the amount of stuff in the house, I believe it!

Unfortunately, Giselle, his granddaughter, was too attached to so many of the items. Space and weight is severely limited, even in the biggest of caravans. The house she was in was so packed full of huge solid furniture, and delicate glass ornaments (which wouldn't make it through the first mountain pass), there was no way she could keep it all. It all contained memories for her, though, and parting with her grandfather's prized possessions wasn't easy. There were more tears than I ever care to experience again!

Something happened to us while we were attempting to talk her out of keeping absolutely everything: we fell in love with some of the things, too. I was reminded of my childhood, part of a community, having a place I belonged. True, that community had a tendency to change, but I had my bearings, I always knew where I was in relation to the Earth.

Steve never really had that, nor did he ever desire it, until now. Seeing the massive garden and ranch the old man had may have had something to do with it. We spent the cool desert evenings sitting on the back stoop watching the stars.

We've headed inland to find home. A place to settle in. A place to belong. A community to grow.