summer on the westhill
Had a good conversation with my brother early in the week. Among other things, I asked him for some advice about how to formulate my wishes regarding a life insurance payout, now that I’m divorced. Since the kids are underage and still in progress, it’s a little more complicated than before. I’ve been working on it all week, and I think I’ve laid out a workable plan. I’m really thankful he’s been willing to take on the role of executor, and just to have him in my corner in general. He’s very steady, and gives sound, thoughtful advice.
We talked about all manner of things, among them the Hayesville house, and he brought up something I hadn’t thought about. The house is jointly owned by my parents and my aunt, and while she doesn’t stay there as often as my parents do, she does visit at least once or twice a year, and has an attachment to the house and the area. Her husband, my uncle, is significantly older than she is, and going downhill at a decent clip. They live close to my parents, but according to my brother, my aunt has expressed a desire to relocate permanently to Hayesville when my uncle passes. Exactly how that would play out in terms of my parents’ frequent visits, I’m not sure, but it would definitely make it more challenging for me to just “escape” there for a weekend or such. I love my aunt, but the main reason to go would be to enjoy that restorative time alone. I’d like to have a conversation with my parents and get their take on it, now that I know. I have a great deal of affection for that house, and would move there in a heartbeat if my life circumstances allowed. There are just a lot of stakeholders, many cooks in the kitchen—all people of goodwill; no one’s on a power trip, which is good, but it’s still challenging to know how to navigate the web of desires and intentions, and to know which conversations to have when, etc. Fortunately, as far as my family is concerned, my parents and brothers know that I’m interested in the house. Whether that desire has been made known beyond that circle, I’m not sure.
I didn’t always feel such a strong attachment to the Hayesville house. In fact, before the first time I drove there from Chattanooga back in 2014 (?), I hadn’t been there in close to twenty years, and never felt bonded to it back then. It was just my grandmother’s mountain house, with no air conditioning, and it smelled kind of musty and was full of random things she had picked up from flea markets and thrift stores, like an old Atari 2600 and a handful of games. The TV had bunny ears, and all my tomboyish mom’s childhood toys were there, old board games and a kids’ bow and arrow and a target. So we certainly found things to keep us occupied, but it was far from a transcendent experience. What changed? Frankly, I’m not entirely sure. I’ve had several key moments there but I can’t augur a cause other than just getting older, and having experiences that intersect with those moments and breathe meaning into them:
- Driving back in my green F150 along the twisty part of 64 that borders the Ocoee, evening sun setting in the rear view mirror, both kids sleeping in the back seat, Kings of Convenience playing softly on the stereo, arm up on the back of the front bench seat.
- Sitting on a deck chair in the carport, watching the cloud shadows slide over the Nantahala Range in the distance, contentedly reading Adrian Newey’s memoir, a cool drink on the side table next to me.
- Having put the kids to bed, watching old Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes in the living room with my dad, curtains drawn across the wide front windows, cozy on the couch.
There have been others, but those are the three that come immediately to mind. Maybe the common thread is that the house feels like a part of that location AND a part of my family the way no other house has—the mountains slope through the windows, and the walls have the texture of our relationships—and somehow it took me being a dad, with responsibilities and a full battery of thoughts about place, to appreciate that.