I arrived at my new home on a Wednesday afternoon at the end of April; my cat, kitchen supplies, and curiosity in tow. On the hour-and-a-half trek from my best friend’s house in St. Paul, I felt a mix of relief and grief – I was finally taking the plunge and moving (officially!) from Minneapolis back to rural Wisconsin!

After hitting my head against the same walls of caregiver and city life burnout for more than five years, I was lucky enough to spend the winter dedicating myself to both my writing life and my emergent return to death work. I was able to take this time to heal and learn through the generosity and support of so many beloveds.

Through the immense care of my parents, I had access to my favorite place in the world: our cabin up in Northern Wisconsin, where I finally had a good night’s rest for what felt like the first time in years. I spent my days in public libraries across the Northwoods, playing cards and cooking with my uncle, taking snowy walks across the lake and on the trails my father and his friends forged forty years ago, and writing as much as I could muster.

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I SAY ALL OF THIS TO HIGHLIGHT HOW I WOULDN'T BE HERE, DIVING HEADFIRST INTO THE QUEER RURAL LIFE I'VE BEEN DREAMING TOWARDS FOR SO LONG,

without the people and places who kept me housed, laughing, and loved along the way – countless of which aren't mentioned here.

KD HACKWORTHY

Thanks to the generosity of a kindred spirit, Steve, I was able to stay two weeks at Sittin’ Pretty Farm, a gorgeous, heartfelt community space in Viroqua. I spent my days submitting my work and applying to writing retreats, reading and pulling tarot at sunrise, walking to Amish neighbors for fresh eggs, and giggling at the counter of the local breakfast joint, Maybe Latelys. For another few weeks, I was able to stay in La Crosse, where I hosted dinner parties with one of my best friends, led my first Death Cafe at Pearl Street Books, and did yoga almost every single day.

When I missed my community in the Twin Cities, I stayed with one of my childhood best friends/found family, Travis, where we spent many a night cackling over our favorite shows (you’ve never seen people watch TV like we do) and chatting about our futures. He also spoiled my beloved Long Walt when I went and WWOOFed at Nettle Valley Farm for two weeks, surprised my dad for his birthday in Arizona, and visited another childhood best friend in NYC to celebrate the end of our respective social work and death doula programs. I couldn’t have rounded out my “sabbatical,” as my therapist called it, without his unblinking support and true friendship.

I say all of this to highlight how I wouldn’t be here, diving headfirst into the Queer rural life I’ve been dreaming towards for so long, without the people and places who kept me housed, laughing, and loved along the way – countless of which aren’t mentioned here. I found Racing Heart Farm, where I’m spending my first season as a part-time vegetable farmer, through searching for Queer farms in the area. When I first entertained leaving the Cities, I refused to go more than an hour away, feeling too connected to my community there to go further. After spending my winter sprawled all over the state, I realized returning to the Chippewa Valley – an hour-and-a-half drive be damned – was the answer.

"I have to believe I was waiting for this version of myself: the same community minded, loud mouth, dirty-toed book lover, but even Queerer, even softer, and even surer of the future I want."

I am now a part of a small, all Queer team of farmers who make me smile and think and teach me how to tend our human and more-than-human connections. I end many nights walking out to the field at sunset, after eating dinners made from our bounty, or reading in the sun, or watching Top Chef with the cat and a big bowl of local ice cream. I am re-immersing myself in the community through Dotter’s Book Club, poetry readings, and leading two-step and line dance at Leona’s (shameless plug!). Here, I am richer than I’ve been in a really long time.

I almost returned to the area many times over my tenure in the cities, but something always held me back. I have to believe I was waiting for this version of myself: the same community minded, loud mouth, dirty-toed book lover, but even Queerer, even softer, and even surer of the future I want. That future is rooted in the land, and in creating Queer joy and liberation and community upon it. That future is built at potlucks, over writing prompts, in sweet songs beside death beds and rivers and fields of wheat. I am raising my voice, and lower my pen, and holding the hands of everyone who’s ready to join me.