Our tight-knit foursome made our way north to my reclusive father’s hermit hideaway with every belonging that my mother had ever owned. My husband adamant I not throw away a treasure in the early days of my Daze, packed it all himself. Every family heirloom, every picture, even the 101 Dalmations plate that had served my breakfast every day of my much younger life. Dustin tenderly packed it all, leaving me to concentrate on not falling off the earth from sadness and anxiety.
Rural Georgia was never the destination, merely a stop to drop off my mothers belongings with my dad. Our next stop was…. too far away to think about? Who can think farther than their face in the early stages of big grief muddled with Xanax haze?
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Living in Idaho we were NOT happy. We lived near great people but in a town too far out from society to support the industries of our ambitions. We knew we needed a change but had no idea what that change needed to be. With my mom on our minds as we pulled into my dad’s woodsy hideaway our family finally breathed a sigh of safety. The funeral, lawsuit and house clean up out of the way, we had at least made it to the solace of the next step; a hideaway.
Thats when fate stepped in. I will never remember how, or why we called a realtor. I like to thank my husband for that. Like I said, the awful feelings were big for me and the pharmaceutical “grief cures” were a doozy.
Depressed, tired and wishing I was laying back on my mothers grave above her in Florida I hollowly and clumsily buckled my seatbelt, feeling nothing, to go look at houses that weren’t MY childhood home. Homes my mother had never been in. Cynicism filled my stomach and grief clouded logic.
Feeling the universe would never respond a sign to guide me, my head wandered as we drove down unfamiliar rural backroads that held no significance or memories.
We pulled into an expansive field with a unremarkable and small house. Wishing I didn’t have to get out of the car, I sat as Dustin walked around and opened the passenger car door, my lead legs still unmoving “I think you’re really going to like this one babe” he reassured me, holding out his hand, I paused, and then took it.
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The patient and good-natured mama of a real estate agent briefed us before we entered the wood home “so this is an old farm house, renovated master bath, crown molding, wood floors, - lets take a look”
Despite her pictaresque description my eyes could look nowhere but my shoes. For what other grief was waiting for me by looking up?
Entering the French kitchen doors for the first time, my chin lifted to a sight that stopped me cold and made me believe in magic and love after death. Directly across from the doors hung a giant canvas sporting the words “you are my sunshine”
My grief paused to make place for shock, elation and awe.
My whole life my mother would pull me onto her lap and sing me “You Are My Sunshine.” It was her way of letting me know that no matter how big I got, I was still forever her baby and sweet little girl. The love she had for me could move mountains and she sung of it often.
As a redneck comedian once said “there’s your sign” literally! Tears of happiness rolled down my face and I knew immediately that I’d gotten my literal sign we were home.
“I’ll take it.” I said, sure of my first step forward. Decided on nothing more than a canvas sign.
After packing up for a second time and moving from the mountains of the Northwest to the south we started “Sunshine Farms” in her memory. This heirloom market garden farm was to be her legacy.
Our goal: grow the best, natural and delicious fruits and veggies the world has ever seen.
With love on our side, Sunshine Farms had become our family’s newest and best happiness.
We felt my mom here everyday as we worked the gardens. In every success she was there. In the people we hired, we felt peace. In the quiet of the morning we would feel her presence. As we fished in our pond with my dad we knew she with us because she led us here. Our family has never been happier and my daddy has been able to meet and love on his grand babies and only daughter for the first time in ten years and we owe it all to her.
There was tragedy. There was heartbreak but more importantly through it all my mom was teaching us a lesson: sometimes REALLY bad things happen and your life seems to fall apart so great adventures can come together. Who can say what is ultimately going to end up good or bad?
Sunshine Farms was built from the ground up on love, happy memories of my childhood and homegrown, natural family goodness.
Success, happiness, and produce followed, until……
Part 3: Coming Soon