In the midst of the current kerfuffle about short-term rentals down here, the disruption to this place of peace by forces of greed, comes an odd—and surprisingly emotional—moment of wonder.

I was doing a quick phone check in with folks, reminding them of the importance of attending next week’s meeting, the urgency of using their presence to counter the moneyed interests that will undoubtedly be out en force. One of the folks I called is a scion of the family whose name is etched into this place. 

The place where I live is named after his dad.

We didn’t talk for long. We’ve never been chatty neighbors. But he knew my folks. Brought them up unbidden. Knew this house and when they’d acquired it, back when the road out front was paved with nothing but dirt. 

Those few fond words left me in tears. Happy tears, not sad. The knowledge that those two wonderful Biederstadt people are still alive in the memories of other people besides me. The bond that we have, fixed in this place where our parents, his and mine, still live. The reason we persist. The reason we believe.

We honor this place, not for gain but for love. For the treasure of continuity. For the knowledge of the trees planted, the kindnesses shown, the neighbors we could—and can—rely on. A few wonderful words can bring that knowledge to life…in a way that a ghost town of short-term rentals, created by investors with no roots in this soil, never can.