What the land tells me

Learning to build by listening.

I’ve always known when a piece of land is meant for something special. It’s not the soil or the square footage, not the price tag or the views—it’s a feeling.

It’s standing there, in the quiet, and listening for the whisper that says:

Here. This is where you build. This is what belongs here.

When I walk a piece of land, I don’t come with blueprints in hand. I come with questions. What do you want to be? Where does the light fall in the morning? Where does the wind come from in the afternoon? Where would I sit with a cup of coffee and watch the seasons turn?

I don’t force it. I don’t impose a vision. I listen. The land always tells me what it wants—and when I get it right, the design feels effortless. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s true.

I think life is like that, too. We spend so much time trying to force things into place—our plans, our relationships, our futures. But maybe the art of building—whether it’s a home, a business, or a life—isn’t about control. Maybe it’s about listening.

Right now, I’m listening. I’m selling my forever home on the coast of Maine. I’m beginning to walk the land of Virginia’s wine country, listening closely for the quiet yes that says:

This is where you build next.

And when that day comes, I’ll touch my fingers to the dirt and start building again—slowly, quietly, by hand.

Reflection for You:
What are you trying to force into place right now? What would happen if you stopped pushing—and started listening?