That’s a holly tree growing between the house and the wood-burning furnace that heats our house in winter and hot water year-round. It’s a survivor; its partner tree had to be cut down after our house burned in 2011. It’s had to have a trim or two and some pruning, but it is growing. I know it’s been there for more than forty years.

About this time forty years ago, I drove to this piece of land that has been home to me since 1984. My then-fiance and his father were cutting trees and clearing space where our home would be. Grampa “Hub” Fulmer was there, too, “supervising” from his perch on his old, faded Ford tractor. He was dressed in his usual overalls, lined denim coat, and a blue hat with the earflaps pulled down over his ears. He motioned to me to come next to him. He had his cane with him and pointed at several small trees. “Don’t let Grady cut down those holly berry trees,” he told me. In just a few weeks, Grampa would leave us in March. It saddens me that I didn’t have long to get to know him except through the stories that are told about him.

The hollies are only one of the reminders of Grampa. Grady bought our property from Grampa before we married. In fact, he had purchased one tract before we met with the intention of setting up his home there. He bought a second small tract for $500.00 (well below market value) right after he proposed. And then, when Granny’s estate was settled later than fall, he bought the rest of our nearly ten-acre tract. After Grampa retired, he constructed seven ponds to raise minnows. Fishermen stopped at his minnow house on their way to Lake Murray. The two ponds on our tract form another connection to this man I did not have time to get to know.

I’ve been photographing the land recently while participating in the Kinship practice circle, Making Kin through Photography. This class focuses on contemplative photography practices and some somatic practices as preparation for receiving the images. As I walk around with my “big girl camera,” I think about the story I might tell through my images. I feel connected with the land and the people who have lived and worked it when it was farmland. I know that I want to keep this land in the family as part of my sons’ heritage and legacy, even though they now live more than an hour away (but still in South Carolina and a short drive away).

Today, the land connects me to family.