I sat in the silence of the empty room, one hand stroking a nervous English setter’s head and the other holding my phone. “Such a long way,” I thought as I glanced at the map.

The distance seemed unfathomable the first time I saw it earlier this year — 7,141 miles — and seeing it again felt the same. How could this be? She was just here Friday morning. As I rubbed Poppy’s head, I wondered what she was thinking.

Certainly, she could smell Tate’s scent still fresh in the room, which had to be confusing. “She’s back home in Japan girl,” I said, getting up to walk out while trying to hold back the tears.

As I closed the door and walked down the hall, Poppy sticking to me like Velcro, I thought about a question I asked myself a few days prior. Early Friday morning, G and Tate had left for the airport. I cried when I hugged Tate goodbye and as I watched the taillights of G’s car disappear down Brooksville Road.

I was fine all morning while working in Meridian and was driving down Eighth Street when I heard a text alert sound on my phone. When I read, “Just boarded for LA,” the tears came again. “Will I always cry when my children leave?” I asked myself aloud.

Sunday, as Poppy and I left Tate’s room, I realized that, without a doubt, the answer for me will always be “yes.”

As I reflect on the year, 2024 has been a whirlwind of emotion. On the heels of Tate and Jake’s wedding last December, Jake finished his F-18 training in Virginia, received his orders, and, in early spring he and Tate headed out for Iwakuni, Japan, some 7,141 miles away.

Poppy, Tate and Jake’s English setter, came to live with us. It made sense that in her parents’ absence she should be in a place where she was comfortable. She loves being with us and our crazy crew of critters, and we all love being with her. What’s one more dog when you already have three — and a cat, three goats, four ducks, and three geese?

If I’m honest, having Poppy at the farm has meant having a part of Tate here with us and that has made the empty nest feel a little less empty. As it turns out, we ended up having a full nest, on and off, for the summer and most of the fall.

When Jake deployed, Tate returned stateside to use the farm as homebase, which meant that we had both Tate and Dan home for several months. All the chicks were back in the nest, which was a wonderful surprise.

G and I have talked a great deal about the blessing this has been as we know that having both of our children home at the same time again for any extended period will be a rarity.

However, with Tate’s departure last week there was an emptiness at the farm. We were all struggling. Throw in a funeral Saturday for a dear family friend and the constant stream of doom and gloom, negativity and bickering on television and social media surrounding the presidential election on Tuesday, and it was as if a cloud of “heaviness” constantly loomed over us.

By Sunday morning, I was raw. I needed fresh air and I needed a walk to ease my mind. The walk helped, but I still longed to quiet the voice of despair humming inside me.

After walking for an hour, I slipped into the woods. The leaves at the farm began to fall noticeably last week and taking a seat on their blanket of golden yellows, bright reds and weathered browns at the back of the lake, I became immediately more at ease.

Sitting alone in the trees, the words of Wendell Berry’s poem “The Peace of Wild Things” came to mind.

“When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”

There is power in nature, therapy for the body and soul. If, like me, you’ve felt the weight of the world on your shoulders recently, try unplugging, getting outside and taking advantage of a little “leaf therapy.”

Until next time, here’s to the peace that comes from the wild and from wild things, to the love that can bridge a 7,000 mile gap, comfort broken hearts in loss, and find a way to love its neighbor no matter which way he or she voted, and here’s to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.