Hello and welcome to Nudges, a weekly bit of writing about connecting with self, the land, and community. This week’s offering is “part one” of a little piece of fiction I started last week. I don’t know yet what’s next, but I wanted to share it with you all to see what you think of it so far:
After her uncle’s funeral service, an older, somber-looking man approached Sarah and handed her his card. He told her that she was the next-of-kin of her deceased uncle, Joe, and that there were papers that she needed to sign. He asked her to come by his office at her earliest convenience. Then he quietly slipped away. Sarah looked down at the card: Fogg & Weber, Attorneys at Law.
Sarah hadn’t known her uncle very well. She’d let herself drift away from the family after her parents died. She was an adult, she told herself, she didn’t need anybody anymore. It was really just the old traumas talking, but their family was never close to begin with so it wasn’t difficult to slip further apart. She hadn’t intended to come to the funeral, but on the morning of, she’d felt a tugging, a nudge towards the church. “Maybe there’s no one else to go,” she thought, and let her guilt drive her there.
There were only a handful of folks, including herself and the lawyer. The service was short as the priest blessed the urn that contained her uncle’s ashes. Sarah hadn’t noticed the urn tucked under the lawyer’s arm when he spoke with her. She was just glad to be leaving the place.
Sarah’s anxiety grew as she drove to the lawyer’s office, several days after the funeral service. She was uncomfortable in offices, uncomfortable with people in a position of power over her, and she really didn’t like going into new situations without knowing what to expect. She could feel her hands trembling as she left her car and, moments later, reached to open the door to the building where the law offices were housed.
The visit passed in a haze. Sarah left the building holding a thick envelope with the deed to a property she’d never visited, and an urn full of her uncle’s ashes. The property was hers but she had to spread the ashes over it before she did anything else with the place. Back safely inside her car, Sarah rested her forehead against the wheel. This was too much. The routine of her simple life was being battered about like a cat toy and she wished she could just turn her back on what the lawyer had told her. But her guilt rose again, reminding her that her uncle had had no one else. The least she could do was spread his ashes as he’d requested.
Since her day had already been wrenched into upheaval, she turned her car towards the location of the property on the deed. She’d wrap this all up today.
Sarah’s destination was just a short distance outside of town. It was an 80-acre forested hillside with a short driveway into the property – just enough to hide her car from the road. She was a little creeped out by how completely she and her car were hidden from view; anything could happen back here and no one on the highway would know. Luckily it was a sunny day and the bright light bolstered her courage. Sarah got out of her car. She pulled the urn out of the passenger seat and figured out how to open it up. She put the lid back on and looked around. She couldn’t see any trails. She was surrounded by winter-bare shrubs and trees, with the occasional evergreen here and there. There was a kind of stark beauty to it, but Sarah wasn’t convinced to leave the parking pad. After searching around a second time for a path into the forest, and finding none, she decided here was as good a place as any to empty the urn. She unscrewed the cap and, holding the thing by its base, swung the urn in a broad arc in front of her, coating the bushes with ash. She flung the container and retreated to her car to escape the cloud of finer particles. Her rushing movements amped up her anxiety and she suddenly felt eyes on her. She keyed on the ignition and sped away.
The lawyer called her the next day and asked if Sarah knew what she was going to do with the property. She didn’t. He said a company had reached out to make an offer to harvest the timber and quoted her the offer. Sarah forgot to breathe. That amount of money would pay off her school loans and leave her enough to be a bit choosier about where she worked. The lawyer interrupted her daydream to say she could probably get more if she played her cards right. He gave her a few tips on what to say and what questions to ask. “Let me know if you would like any help with this,” he said. Then he gave Sarah the number and disconnected.
The next several days were a flurry of activity as Sarah met with the lawyer and the company that wanted to log her property. The lawyer suggested they would be able to bring in a realtor to help sell the land after it had been cleared. With the population booming like it’s been, he said, Sarah should get top dollar for that acreage. The hillside would make it even more appealing to a developer, who would want to install a number of high-end homes with views. Sarah might not have to work ever again if this all came together like the lawyer was describing.
It was now the night before she was due to sign papers for the logging and the sale of her uncle’s property. Soon her life would be back to normal, but a better normal, a financially secure normal. Sarah put the envelope with the deed next to her door to remember to bring it in the morning. She felt a tug as she walked away and realized she’d never actually looked inside. She grabbed the envelope and opened the flap. There was a stack of papers held together with a paperclip that included a detailed description of the location of the property. She saw her name on the document, stating her as owner. There was also a smaller, sealed white envelope, with her name scrawled in an unsteady hand. Sarah sat on her couch and opened it up. Inside was a letter:
Dear Sarah,
I’m sorry that I didn’t reach out to you before this. I guess I felt guilty about never intervening with your dad. And now I realize that I should’ve at least reached out to you as an adult, even if I didn’t do anything to help you as a child. I’m sorry.
It’s sad how families fall apart over time. I guess there just become so many of us, and things can’t be split equally without destroying the nature of the place… I’m getting ahead of myself.
The property that I’ve left to you has been in our family for generations. Your ancestors tended this land and nurtured the spirit of the place, so that its fullest potential could be realized. We have tended to the plant beings here, protecting them from harvest and harm, to preserve some of the ancient knowledge that these beings carry forward through time. It has been perilous at times. Societal forces have been difficult to navigate as the human population continues to grow and peoples’ connection to the land diminishes. But it’s vital that we protect the beings who cannot protect themselves. We must preserve the forest and everyone within it. They are a community of elders who help to keep the world in balance with their presence.
I wish that I could’ve raised you to understand these things. I wish I could’ve taken you to explore the different groves, to meet the variety of beings who call this place home. I wish I could’ve shared with you the history of our people, of those who died to protect this landscape, and the unfortunate rifts as our family grew through time.
Please, Sarah, continue to protect the integrity of this forest. Spend time among the trees. Imagine that I’m there with you, introducing you to old members of our family. Please get to know this place and protect it from future harm.
Warmly,
Uncle Joe
That’s all for part one. I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to leave a comment if you have ideas on what Sarah should do next.
“See” you next week! :)