In early 2020, I went home to Wickstead, the property my father bought in 1984. Wickstead’s name is a portmanteau of Powick, the surname of the doctor who owned the land before my father, and homestead. It’s where, in 1988, my parents, Roy and Eva, married, and as of 1991, it’s the only home I’ve ever known.

Returning to Wickstead was healing. I reconnected with nature and its soothing sounds. I spent quality time with my family. I wrote an essay exploring my experience with tradition and heritage, which, through a network of friends, captured the attention of Lance. After months of messages and talking on the phone, we met for dinner and shared a connection and conversation that has continued ever since.