Am I Still A Woman Who Wanders?

The truth is in the paradox...

May tipped into June amidst a large-scale family visit this year. I mean, I say large-scale. It was only my grandma, my mother, my aunt, my cousin and then, last-minute, my uncle and his wife came too. So, pretty tame as brown families go. It was chaotic, it was glorious. It left me utterly recharged and totally exhausted. The month has continued that way. The truth is in the paradox.

My grandmother is anxious about travelling. Some pleading, and the addition of the entourage, brought her to Italy from the UK

On the 4th June, as the two generations above me took care of the generation below, I got dressed and left the house for an appointment at a notary’s office about forty minutes drive from home. Truth be told, it took a little longer as we got stuck behind a shepherd moving his flock of sheep. These are the realities of rural life.

We arrived and entered a large and formal office, covered ceiling to floor in large volumes of official papers dating back to before I was born. I recognised Edoardo, the estate agent. The three unknown faces beside him were the three sisters I had wired a sizeable chunk of money to. We shook hands. I self-consciously took a seat at the large oval table.

My being buzzed at a particular frequency that I have felt only once before, as a bride. The notary entered and more handshaking ensued. With each nod, at each page read aloud, with each glance at my husband to check I had understood the proceedings correctly, with each signature on each document, I felt the weight of my destiny.

I now own a home.

Am I still a Woman Who Wanders if I own a home?

The home is not all. When we paid the deposit on the house at the end of last year we discovered that there were two plots of agricultural land, in addition to the garden that were included. I have since learned that this is quite common for homes in the area.

I’ve been joking that I’m a landowner now, looking down my nose at the peasants and making flippant comments about “my land.” The land is divided as follows:

• a narrow orchard directly below the garden that has been left to grow wild for about 5 or 6 years

  

  Listening to my neighbour Giuseppe explain how this land used to be when his friend and neighbour was alive

• a completely bare field, a short tractor-ride away, that has been ploughed, and possibly even sown, by whoever is working the field immediately next to it. (The markings of the plot’s perimeter were only placed there recently)

  

  Enjoying getting my city sneakers really muddy.

• a completely matted and overgrown patch of wild forest that has clearly been inhabited by wild boar.

Tell-tale signs of the cinghiale (wild boar)

A few months ago I asked the question What If I Stayed? I wanted to experiment with putting down roots. I wondered if it was possible for me. Well, I have more space to plant things, including myself, than I could ever have imagined.

Am I still A Woman Who Wanders if I plant roots in the land?

I have given this a lot of thought over the last month. Am I still me if I don’t wander? Am I still a wanderer if I stay still? Do I want to wander? Should I change the name of my publication?

The conclusion I reached initially was this:

Wandering is a state of mind.

Then, after a good while spent with my newest companions; these beloved plots of land that I now find myself the guardian of, an even clearer answer came to me, in the succinct beauty of the English language; one of my very oldest companions:

Wandering Roots.

The answer is yes. I am still a Woman Who Wanders if I own a house. I am still a Woman Who Wanders if I plant roots in the land. I am still me. Curious, open and alive.

Yes, I am still a wanderer, even if I stay still, even if my wanderings take place somewhere deeper, somewhere buried and unseen.

Yes, I do want to wander. Yes, my roots will reach down deep and reach out wide and look for yours.

No, I will not change the name of my publication. The truth is in the paradox.

I sang you a song, in that post, What If I Stayed? I sang it as a song of departure. As if I was the one who was leaving. I wished you joy. Will you sing it to me now? Will you wish me joy? I’m going to stay here.