If I look at the whole thing, it is overwhelming.
I feel that way about a lot these days: the death of George Floyd, my white privilege, my lack of awareness of that white privilege, global warming, plastic in the ocean, plastic everywhere else, the national debt, Donald Trump (just everything about him), an unexplained elephant die off in Africa, COVID-19 and this continuing lock down in California that makes it illegal for me to practice massage inside.
See, isn’t it all just a little too much?
That brings me to the blackberries.
When we bought our house seven years ago, it came with four parcels of land. There are two on the side of the road where the house sits. We have never had it officially surveyed, but judging by the county’s tax maps, it looks like the deck off our back door is somehow split between both parcels. If we were to ever sell the bottom parcel, the new owners would get half our deck.
On the other side of our little street, we have two more parcels. They both run alongside a small, year-round creek. The smaller parcel starts at our house and goes down the street toward our neighbor’s house. The larger parcel also starts by our house, but then winds up our street to the stop sign, then turns the corner and intersects with Main Street, giving us a little land on the other side of the creek.
I have a confession. Up until very recently, I didn’t actually realize that this land was ours. I’m not sure what I thought. That we just owned the little bit that fronted Main Street, and everything below it was somebody else’s?
It is not. Continue Reading…
