A Sense of Place


Every person has a place.  A place for which his or her heart yearns, particularly in lonely times.  This place need not be a physical location.  It could be, for example, a set of circumstances or, perhaps, a person.  The common thread is a feeling of peace that arises from being present in one’s place.

I have felt placeless for nearly 30 years.  But, soon, I will be returning to my place.

My place is a town in eastern Kentucky.  Kentuckians, and the people of southern Appalachia generally, are known for putting a high value on place.  Upon learning of my move, a number of friends have reminded me of Happy Chandler’s quote,  “I never met a Kentuckian who wasn’t either thinking about going home or actually going home.”  I also recently ran across a bluegrass song, The Hills That I Call Home, by Bob Amos that gave broader expression to the notion of place:

For there’re two things you can count on

In this troubled world we face

Every season has an ending

Every person has a place

In Appalachia, the connection to a specific hillside or hollow may originate in the geographical isolation that can keep some rural communities separated from the rest of the world.  Strong family or community ties also may have roots in the need to band together in the face of pejorative stereotypes often associated with Appalachia.  Of course, the persistent poverty experienced by so many Appalachians links them to each other and their surroundings.  Regardless of the source, however, a sense of place seems to arise frequently in discussions of the region.

I have contemplated a move to Kentucky for many years, but the timing never seemed right.  I had a job and couldn’t relocate.  I had a spouse who had no interest in living in Kentucky.  Then, I found myself without a geographically-specific job, a spouse or any other impediment that would stand in the way of returning to my place.

During a visit to my hometown, a friend told me about a house that sounded like the perfect home for my daughter and me.  I was invited to see the house and, while I was there, the universe reminded me of my place.

It spoke softly when I took in the view from an upstairs bedroom window.  Through the window, I saw the vision of Kentucky that I carried with me to Connecticut, North Carolina, New York and California:  hills, their ridges too low to be mountains, but steep and matted with timber and brambles.  At the foot of these hills, a dilapidated barn that embodied something forgotten.

The universe spoke again, and with more urgency, when we walked through the garden and I saw a bleeding heart plant.  As indicated by the name, a bleeding heart’s bloom is shaped like a pink heart with tiny white petals, which resemble a droplet, attached at the bottom of the heart.

A bleeding heart bloomed alongside the house where I grew up.  My great-grandmother, Lou Ann, planted it. She made raisin pies and always apologized for the crusts, even though I dream about their flakiness to this day.  Like her, that bleeding heart plant forgave imperfections in its environment.  Regardless of the harshness of the prior winter, you could count on seeing its blossoms every spring.  It even found a way to survive Daddy’s experiment in using a goat for lawn maintenance, which ended with the bleeding heart being gnawed to the ground.

Several years ago, my then husband surprised me by planting a bleeding heart in our California garden.  Although it was a thoughtful gesture, sadly, the plant died.  While the bleeding heart plant from my childhood could flourish in less than ideal conditions, the plant in our well-tended California garden struggled.  The contrast made me wonder whether some plants, and people, thrive only in difficult soil.  Maybe the plant’s death was a sign that California, despite all of its beauty and promise, could never be my home, my place.

Once I saw the bleeding heart in the garden of what soon will be my new home, I think it was inevitable that I would live in my place again.

With my brother later that evening, I described the house and explained why I thought it was a good fit for my daughter and me.  I went through all the details:  the floor plan, the bedrooms, the beautiful landscaping.

Then, I paused, “This is going to sound insane, but I’m sure I am supposed to live there.  Can you guess how I know?”

He smiled, “Is there a bleeding heart in the garden?”

My brother understands my crazy, well-meaning, battered heart and its similarity to the bleeding heart plant from our childhood.  He also understands that I have been placeless for so long – and it is time to come home.

Sure, there are more specific reasons why I am moving to Kentucky.  My mother suffers from advanced frontotemporal dementia and I want to participate in the last portion of her life.  I want my daughter to experience living in a small town.  I want to watch my brother’s children grow up.  Most of all, however, I simply need to be in my place.

  19 comments for “A Sense of Place

  1. Megan
    May 28, 2014 at 6:21 am

    Oh Kimmy, you continue to touch the lives of so many with your beautiful words. And you continue to write with love in your heart and zeal in your bones, and I can’t help but admire who you are as a woman as a survivor. As a mother. As a daughter. As a teacher, as a writer. Please, all I ask is don’t stop. Love you

    • May 28, 2014 at 7:36 pm

      My sweet friend, as always, you are so kind to me. Like practicing Pilates, writing has become part of my journey – and I promise to continue both! 🙂

  2. May 28, 2014 at 10:01 am

    Good for you. It is humbling, yet somehow satisfying to realize how things all circle back around to our beginnings. I felt much the same way when we returned to CT after 8 years in Seattle. I will say, however, that the place where your child(ren) is born will always have a special hold on your heart. Can’t wait to have you back in the same time zone!! Hugs

    • May 28, 2014 at 7:40 pm

      You are right – CA is special to me because Ansley has lived here for her entire life. And, we have such a wonderful community of friends in CA. But, yes, for many reasons it will be nice to be in the Eastern time zone. Take good care.

  3. Cassandra Hanley
    May 28, 2014 at 11:47 am

    Congratulations. Since Durham, I kept waiting for you to return to KY. You always talked about going back, it sounds like it is time. I am happy for you! I’m really enjoying reading your blog, you are writing some lovely pieces, they are beautiful and touching. Hope KY brings you some healing:)
    Love, C

    • May 28, 2014 at 7:33 pm

      Yes, you are right, this decision has been a long time in the making. Thank you for your good wishes and kind words. It makes me happy that you are enjoying the blog. Maybe now I will make it to DC a little more frequently (or you and Marc could make a trip to tour the Bourbon Trail!).

  4. Cathy Thomas
    May 28, 2014 at 12:49 pm

    Welcome Home! It is important for all of us to have this sense of place! Safe travels and God’s peace be with you and your daughter. Look forward to seeing you “round here”!!!

    • May 28, 2014 at 7:29 pm

      Thanks for the good wishes, Cathy! I look forward to seeing you as well.

  5. Krista Pack Barton
    May 28, 2014 at 7:58 pm

    Welcome home Kim! I enjoy reading your words- beautifully written!

    • May 28, 2014 at 8:13 pm

      Thank you so much, Krista! It makes me happy that you enjoyed the post.

  6. Neil
    May 29, 2014 at 2:26 am

    In many ways, your move has similarities to my recent relocation to Wisconsin. As I often say, blood trumps weather. That is clearly where you belong and will find happiness.

    • May 30, 2014 at 5:22 am

      I keep warning A that the weather is nothing like CA! But, you are right, she will be surrounded by so, so many people who love her that hopefully she won’t notice.

      • Neil Traubenberg
        May 30, 2014 at 11:35 pm

        She’s not a teenager yet, so you’ve got a chance. Otherwise, a teen girl will complain for the sake of complaining – that’s their job. She’ll get over it.

  7. Nadine Griffith
    May 29, 2014 at 11:38 am

    I, and your hometown, welcome you back. I truly enjoy your beautiful writing. Please continue.

    • May 30, 2014 at 5:20 am

      And I am so grateful to be welcomed with such warmth. I hope our paths cross soon after the move. It makes me very happy that you enjoy my writing.

  8. May 29, 2014 at 2:26 pm

    Lovely. I know exactly how you feel. I’m in Texas and missing east Tennessee. I brought my grandmother’s irises with me, and thankfully they survived. I think it’s part of our culture to care so much about the little things.

    • May 29, 2014 at 3:15 pm

      I think you are right about the little things, Julie. Maybe the little things mean so much because sometimes that is all you have. I’m so glad your irises survived! Thanks for reading.

  9. Mindy Clark Highley
    June 2, 2014 at 1:01 pm

    Very well said, my friend! Can’t wait to see your smiling face back home where you belong!

    • June 2, 2014 at 6:47 pm

      Thanks Mindy! I look forward to seeing you as well!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: