Kindred Spirits

The earliest deed I’ve found for our property dates 1870, when the father of a black family living in our house purchased land across the road.

I’ve seen the census records from before the Civil War with Stephen Sellars listed as a slave, then after the war, with him as the head of household. At one point there were seven children living in the one room cabin now our living room, including a daughter named America. The eldest son later raised his family in the cabin, too, which he covered up and added onto sometime in the early 1900s. Len, “Uncle Rabbit” as old timers recall him, and his wife Bettie lived here through the 1920’s.

A succession of tenants occupied the house until the early 1930s when the next family, the Tramels settled in. They were white, a farm family, raised their own brood here, owned the place until they could no longer take care of themselves, then we purchased the property in the 1970s. We got to know them through their children as they returned to visit the old homestead over the years. All good, decent people.

The land to this farm are steep, the soil poor, the house is set against a bluff facing north so it’s damn cold in winter. But there’s always a summer breeze, and the view to the west of the valley and intertwined hills always invites you to pause and appreciate God’s many gifts.

Thirty years on, I know why they all stayed for generations, and how a space like this, tranquility base, can shape your world.