Home. Nothing has been so central to my identity. 200 odd acers of the poorest dirt money could buy has shaped my family for nearly as many years. It has made us rich, then left us poor, and now it almost breaks even. It has fed the pigs and cattle that fed us, and it has lay fallow. It has had more bombs dropped on in than I could count, only to be cleared again and reseeded. I have no right to this land, but it seems to have rights to me.
This work is my way of searching for what this land, and the people that worked it, mean. As I have dug through the past, I find stories, milestones for moments that put me here today. This work uproots those stories, looking in, under, and around them searching for context and hoping their connections bring the answers I need.