Finding Home

Through his prized hayfields.

Good afternoon from warm, partly sunny Vermont. In the half book I’ve written, Eva hasn’t talked about her dad much. Why hasn’t she talked about her dad? He’s supposed to be a strong presence in her life, according to Vinehart Farm, but he remains unshaped. Now that my dad has died, I find myself thinking of various things I need to ask him about, as if I still could. Most recently, I wanted to ask how he’d feel if some gas company told him it was planning to run lines through his prized hayfields. He’d have some words for me, I promise you that. Why didn’t I ask him that long before he died? After all, I had the book’s plot figured out. Stupid of me, and now a regret.

Anyway, it makes sense that Eva continues to have questions for her dad, even though he’s been gone a year. It makes sense that she’d have conversations in her head and even out loud just for him. Where did you put that old oil can, dad? Why did you have three small ladders but only one big one? What would you say to Gesco to protect your land?

I’ll start over from the beginning of Quill Point and work in her dad Randy’s essence. That will make the book more genuine, and it will help me through some grieving. The other part of my book that needs work is how to reconcile the sheer power of the gas and oil industry in regard to individual rights. Realistically, Eva doesn’t stand a chance. How do I make her stand a chance and still write credible fiction? I want this book to be hopeful.

And speaking of hopeful, tomorrow is Easter, a hopeful day if ever there was one. I plan to attend 8 AM services and attend a large family brunch at my mom’s. We’ll have tears, moments of silence, and mostly joy. How will you spend Easter?

Check back next week for another segment of Finding Home.






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2 thoughts on “Through his prized hayfields.

  1. Maggie on said:

    Dear Lisa,
    How I understand the regret of those unanswered questions – the ones we never even knew existed before our parent died. They echo now like a wind in a tunnel, like a cry in an empty room.

    Our faith reminds us that we are never alone, that God understands our every emotion and loves us beyond our concept. May this Easter bring the rememberance of the very real presence of our Great Comforter, our Father in heaven to your heart and mind. May you hear the whisper of love and know that it is true, it is real. Sing Hallelujah and know that our God Reigns! For me, this is the essence of the hope you speak of.

    Greg and I will participate in the Easter Vigil tonight as we witness the stone being rolled away from the tomb and feel the resurrection occur in our hearts. The hope of the future returns to our senses after the desolation of the crucifixion on Friday and the sense of excruciating loss today. Tomorrow we won’t go to a church service as we will already have had the experience of Jesus rising from the dead in the early hours of Easter morn. Instead, we will hike the trails of Eklutna Lake which to us feels like being in God’s cathedral of the outdoors.

    Peace be with you dear friend. I feel sure that you will find a way to develop the father figure needed in your new book. You have had a lot of experience with the personality of a very real and strong father and yes, even the faults and foibles that make our fathers so human.

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