I can never go home again. The land that I grew up on, an estate not far from NYC that my parents cared for, but that belonged to someone else, is now in the hands of a new owner and a new family entrusted with its care. That land, to some degree, told me who I am. The trees, the ground beneath my feet and the wildlife provided the details to a family story that grew and changed over time, as family stories do. It held the particulars of my parent’s journey from a small, southern town to New York in the 1950’s, as a poor black couple with big dreams for themselves and their children. Without access to that story, it would be easy to feel unmoored, rootless, and insecure about my place, my past and my future. Who am I? Where did I come from? What does the future hold?
