The One That Was Just Right: The Discovery of Lydia Springs Sanctuary

In 2020, the world shut down. COVID was terrifying in its capacity to take so many people from wellness to death in the worst ways I could imagine. Suffocation was always my worst nightmare and here was a new virus that led people anywhere from ‘mild sore throat and a cough’ to ventilators with uncertain next steps.  Some people lost everything as businesses closed and shipping channels got clogged up.   People stayed home and as safe as they could make themselves.

As a healthcare worker, I was spared. I had landed in a safe place beyond anything I deserved or could have asked for.  I could keep working, and I could be safe through remote work.  I like to think during that time that I showed up how I could for those who needed extra care or didn’t have the funds to pay for care.  But I also felt like this virus was a wake-up call.  Life is precious, and we must show up for it.

And being outside was the safest place to show up.

The mountains have always felt like home to me. Specifically, the blue mountains of Virginia—the Blue Ridge, Appalachian, and Alleghany mountains that gently roll into the horizon. Where morning fog rests in the crevasses, and every hillock and stream teems with life.  To love the mountain life is to get close to it, not to disturb, but to understand, and to marvel. The COVID shutdown led me back to what felt vital to me.  I wanted land.

I started randomly looking online.  How does one buy land?  I landed on a website with multiple plots for sale and made the brave choice to offer my name and phone number.  In less than a minute, there was an agent making a call to me.  Jonathan sounded young, and he sounded kind.  I might as well work with him than any other stranger…

I gave him the basics—I wanted acreage in the mountains and preferably with water.  For several weeks, we met along the way somewhere and drove out to plots for sale.  There was one with a lively stream smack dab in the middle of the property.  It was stunning—but also in a floodplain and a bit too far from home.

One was on the side of a mountain and wooded, but it would have cost more than I could afford just to put in a driveway.

One piece of property was a whole knoll and quite lovely—once you forded the narrow creek.  It was also right across the street from a neighbor with political flags in his yard.  I knew I would never go there and feel safe.

Another was a plot in a growing subdivision.

Nothing was speaking to me.

At some point, I said to the universe, ‘show me wildlife and I will know the property is for me.’

I started looking online again.  One piece that showed up was way outside of what I was looking for in terms of price. But I opened the link anyway, and there was this little cabin on 13+ acres.  I fell in love with the picture.

Why this place?  I think it was the mixture of structure and nature.  It felt like I was invited there, unlike the totally wild undeveloped places.

But you know how it is, falling in love online—very suspect until you see it in person.  By now, Jonathan had spent many a Saturday tripping through the Blue Ridge Mountains from Fluvanna County to Nelson County, to Buckingham and  Rockingham counties—hundreds of miles and many Saturdays away from his young family.  I called him and asked him to set up a showing.  I didn’t think he would mind a higher commission!

The owner, an old man named Bill, wanted to meet us there and tour with us.  Jonathan had some reservations, but it was okay with me.  The meeting was set for the next Saturday.  We met at Joe’s Kitchen and Antique Shop in Ruckersville, and headed west on Rt. 33 to Stanardsville, and up the mountain, making the sharp right turn onto Dunivan Lane.  The narrow, sloping, rocky lane was a little terrifying.  We stopped at the first houses because we were not sure where the road went.  Finally, it seemed the only viable option was to follow the narrow road between the second house and what looked like their yard, around the wooded road that felt like it was holding a secret and, finally, down the steep drive to the cabin.

Bill met us with a hardy handshake and obvious pride of ownership. 

His step was spry and his lanky frame was alight with excitement.  He acted as a tour guide around the place.  He reported that his mother had bought the cabin because she loved the mountains and his father had bought some property in Hampton Roads because he loved the water.    She had held church retreats there.  I couldn’t quite imagine a group of ladies coming to this tiny cabin off the road and sleeping on cots in the loft, but…okay.  He took us through the cabin, showing us the kitchen first—with it’s own exterior door, and explained that his tenant lived there—in the kitchen—complete with a space for his cot, a claw foot tub, and a bedside commode.  I couldn’t imagine this either!

Then he used a little key to unlock the padlocked door of the original cabin—a 200 year old structure, he reported.  He opened the door and we were greeted by a dark space—as in, no light reflecting off on anything.  And completely stuffed with boxes, furniture, buckets, hanging things and shelved things, and…things.  He showed us around, and all I could see was charm, and a cabin.  My partner could see the rotting wood, the old electrical wiring, the slope of the floor.  In typical fashion, my rose colored glasses balanced out his shit colored glasses.  I fell in love while he counted the cost of repair.

Afterwards we went for a walk along the fire road leading into the interior of the property.  That first walk has never been repeated somehow.  It was so new and delightful. It was magical in a way that has shifted and deepened, but it has never been that shiny since.

Bill took us to the back of the property and onto a neighbor’s land, and up a hill to a rock outcropping where he said he liked to bring his lunch and sit sometimes.  While scrambling up the hillside, I was behind Bill and looking at where he was placing his feet.  Right beside his foot—as in, he almost stepped on it—and blending into the fallen leaves, was a box turtle.

And then I knew.  This was the wildlife I had asked Spirit to show me when I had found ‘the’ place.  It felt so clear. 

 I just wasn’t sure how to make it happen.  This property was well beyond anything I had imagined buying.  But here it was.

All the other places I knew I would never go to.  I had not realized that having a place to come to and feel part of was what I had wanted in the land, until I was on this land.

I had not expected to fall in love like this, but it had already burrowed into my soul.  It was beyond a heart thing.  When I talk about the land, the love pours out, sometimes in tears!  It fills my heart and my head, and my body.  if I did not say yes, it would be a thing I would live with in regret and longing.  So I needed to work to make it happen.