GypsyFarm

Current Status (winter2001)

In memory of Carroll Ann Newberry Sept 24, 1952 - Sept 4, 2001:

There are times that I tell myself: if only I could speak to her one more time. Maybe we could go for a walk and I'd say those things that I have said a million times, but still wanting to say one more time. Yet I know this is a lie, for if I could get one more talk, one more walk I'd ask for more, for it can never be enough because there can never be a last moment with someone whom you've love and have shared the years and passions that Carroll and I have shared. No it could never be enough.

This is the first time I've had the emotional strength to address this part of my life for even as life proceeds with it's continual march, moving on, rebuilding, wiping tears from the face, I still dream of her. I think that is good for that is how we stay connected. Not just Carroll and I, but the whole universe, to our brothers and sisters that make up this universe, this universe in which we live, and laugh and cry and call our lives.

I guess it is still hard for me to grasp that in May of this year she was diagnosed with lung cancer. She began chemo and radiation treatments but by August we had switched to hospice care. Her beautiful wonderful body had become racked with pain and on September 4th she let go, she let go of the pain that had dominated the last months of her life, but our love will continue for it has no physical body to contain it.

She is now part of this land and this house. This house built from earth. I recall there was this moment we shared, when we both knew that the odds were slim that she would be in this world much longer. She said "Damn, I won't get to see the house finished." That may sound odd to some folks, but not to me for we had poured so much of our soul in to this place. The completion of this house was something that we wanted to share. In the one sense, that is no longer a possibility, but in another the it is still very much true. She is now buried on the land just a short a walk from this house that we shared our labor and love and in time I know that I too, will lay with her and continue to watch over this land that we so dearly love.

So where does that leave the house as old man winter comes to Georgia? Well as you can guess, not a lot of work got done this summer. We do have walls: Walls on all sides. There remains plastering, and the laying of the floors, but at least the winter hawk must knock before it can come inside the house. I now have two wonderful grandchildren that share this land, as well as my son, daughter and their significant others. My parents even talk of coming down someday to retire, even thought the process seems hard for both of them. Maybe someday the pull of Babylon will break loose and they will find the peace and spirit of this the land.

I have also felt the comfort and love of so many family members and friends that have been there for me and my family in this time of pain, The comfort and love that has allowed me to find pockets of joy in the mist of an ocean of sorrow. To each: I am eternally thankful. For to know that love can still exist in one's life when there is so much pain in your heart is a saving grace, a life saver. It is this love than nourishes the seeds of hope, buried, but still alive. A hope that will blossom with this house, with this family, with this world.

Love and Light

Pat Newberry

Mauk Ga,

Cob Fireplace	Cob and SuperAdobe wall	Knock, Knock, it' the front door.
Mini Superadobe vault	Building gumbo	Close up of a window
Standing in the foyer

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