Excavation

As with all things, to create there must be a void. An artist has a canvas, a writer has a piece of paper, God had a blank planet, and Chelane and I have three acres of farmland; two planted in wheat, one with the hole dug to plant a home. The emptiness of the excavation seems to echo future memories, I imagine Pepper running through Lee and Emily's subterranean home screaming and laughing. I can imagine her tears from falling down and her little feet running across the dirt as I desperately try to plant grass. And I realize in that instant, standing in a void walled by soil six feet deep, that I want that life.

When I speak of a home, it is more than just the house we will be building over the next year. This hole in the earth will accept a seed which will grow into a life with expectations and surprises. As I removed each yard of soil, creating small mountains around the excavation, I had time to reflect on how long a year is, and how fast three hundred and sixty-five days can progress. I know that through the stress and excitement of having a new daughter, I will forever be intertwining the stress and excitement of building a new house, and forever after we will tell Pepper, when you were born, these three acres were a flat field, when you were born that tree was not even planted, when you were born your mother and I were just beginning our lives. I want that life. I know Chelane does too. And I know that come May seven, or someday near there, I will, for the second time in my life, fall in love. I hope I can build a home Pepper will want to remember.