Last night I attended a holiday supper at my neighbor’s house, but I couldn’t openly share what was uppermost on my mind.
Just before I drove over to my neighbors’, I had just gotten off the phone with a man who wants to buy something I own, which would allow me to pay off the remaining debt on Estrella Vista and make the next phase of my vision for the property possible. We hadn’t agreed on a final price, but we had agreed we were close enough that we were going to reach an agreement.
Several weeks ago, I had intimated to a friend what I wanted to do, and he voiced his amazement that I am able to keep moving forward on fumes alone.
Impossible objectives have never scared me. One of the first guys—a real estate developer—who I took to visit my future park told me: “You will never be able to make this project happen; there’s just too much land here. It’s too valuable.” Well, it took fifteen years and the commitment of hundreds of people, but millions of dollars in private and public financing were eventually raised, and a nature park and trail are now a part of the scene in Minneapolis. A reality that would never have come to pass had I listened to others and given up.
When I came to West Texas thirteen years ago, I developed several iterations of a vision that a permanent home would be established here for kids who need a second chance at life. That vision did not start with the property, but in this case with the need and conviction that kids from awful homes needed a place to begin rebuilding their lives. It took me seven years to find Estrella Vista, and another six years to cobble together a property of sufficient size.
At times I was the only person who believed in the vision—a lonely place to be, but I have been here before. The day before he left, Alex King told me he regarded the vision as a “pipe dream” that had little chance of coming to fruition. But what does he know? He has never been involved in an “impossible” vision before.
What he doesn’t appreciate is that I won’t ever give up. I’m patient and willing to use every resource I can, no matter how meager, to make my mission an actuality.
When I lived in Marathon, there was one place where I discovered what I think was a desert holly (Acourtia wrightii), in a protected place in the otherwise inhospitable Chihuahuan Desert environment. It had pink flowers and attracted butterflies. I found it in only one location and have the impression it’s quite rare… or at least uncommon. In this one place, it seemed to flourish despite adversity. I took that desert holly as my inspiration.
If it could survive, I could too, even if the odds were against it.
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