Growing On the Land
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
L. Ann Jackson is a writer, historian and Sensitivity Reader currently living in her hometown of San Francisco. She enjoys writing about the history of African Americans of the Second Great Migration and their sojourns from the southern United States to the shores of San Francisco Bay, inspired by her own family’s stories.
L. Ann is a recipient of the Muses & Melanin Black Women Creative Writers Fellowship and the San Francisco Arts Commission Emerging Writers award. She presents literary and historical workshops at the San Francisco Public Library. Selections from her short story collection, The Religion of Slaves, were presented at San Francisco’s LitQuake Literary Festival. Ms. Jackson is currently at work on her first novel, Her Good Name, a historical fiction set in post-WWII San Francisco’s African American community.
In addition to her literary endeavors, L. Ann is curator of the Steve Jackson, Jr. Photograph Collection. Spanning more than fifty years, the collection is an inspiration for her writing. A portion of the collection is currently on exhibit at the African American Museum of History & Culture in Washington, DC.
When L. Ann is not writing, she enjoys watercolor painting, walking, listening to true-crime podcasts, baking and preparing her signature Linda’s San Francisco West Coast Gumbo for friends and family.
Growing On the Land
BY TANNUR SHEWRIGHTZ ALI
©2025. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Somewhere between grief and growth, I found myself. Between the pines and sweet gums of Alabama. In the yard, in a tent, at the bottom of a bottle of wine my mind expanded. My heart imploded. My eyes began to see further into the distance and deeper into the dark.
I came to this land – the land of the Mississippians; the land of the Black Warrior, after many months of traveling the country and the world on a homeschool project with my 3 children. I came here determined to find my way forward. I was grief stricken, but excited to start anew. The series of events that led to this land being available to me included a random phone call from my Mom’s ex-husband, a friend I made at a conference who offered to “be the bank”, a group of artists from war-torn countries singing Sweet Home Alabama around Lake Geneva, the death of the love of my life and a life-long dream to be a farmer. I came to this land exhausted and again I’ll say determined.
Having the experience of eviction notices, custody courts, teachers who were more bully than educator, hearing the word “intelligent” used as a slur and so much more, I felt called to carve our little piece of freedom into these trees. My father, Solomon Ali had set forth a goal that lived intrinsically in our family to have land, build our own businesses, teach our own children, forge our own paths. My mother embodied that goal throughout my childhood and I wanted to embody it in my own way for my children. I wanted to make tangible what had been presented as possibilities to one day appear in our lives.
I came here feeling like I had learned pretty well to grow food from Ms. Lillian Williams in Albany, Georgia and practice in our community garden – Nature’s Grove. I was sure I understood the grit required to make it happen. What was I going to make happen? I didn’t quite have an idea of that. It took about a year to begin to see it.
My children were un-schooled. I believed in their ability to think critically, engage with life events and learn what they needed to know through my guidance and transparency. I saw them as teammates. Though, I did feel inclined to push them to pick up their shoes, try something new, work a little longer and a little harder than they felt like. I felt inclined to give them a sense of ability and ownership. Life and people have a way of shifting how we see things. While they enjoyed having a home that was fully ours, painting their walls any color they chose, picking their rooms, using YouTube as an encyclopedia, they missed having neighbors. They missed the hustle and bustle of life in the projects… Other children their ages to play with, activities to attend in the city, connections to adults other than myself. They didn’t only miss those things – they needed them. What started off as an introduction to liberation, self-actualization, sustainability became an exercise in loneliness for them. If I’m real, for me too.
After a year I allowed them to enroll in the local public school. They were nervous after so many years of undisciplined learning that they would know nothing. They quickly found out that they were wrong. They entered school and in no time began to bring home As and Bs. They would come home and tell stories of how astonished they were at the lack of knowledge among their peers. Could I believe that what was being taught in history class has long been proven wrong? Could I believe that they were required to memorize incorrect information in order to maintain their good grades? Yes! Of course, I knew…
It didn’t take long though, before they did begin to memorize and internalize the lies of this system. It didn’t take long before they internalized a deep sense that their isolation from society through our travels and subsequent settling in the woods was abnormal and dangerous. They began to desire normalcy. They wanted to be normal. What’s the point in having a house that you can always come home to, if there is no family or community around it? Their annual trips to Philadelphia became a touch-stone for what a “normal life” is like. After my eldest left for college, eventually they all went seeking that normal life.
I found myself an empty-nester at 38 years old. I was devastated. In those 4 years since moving to the land, I had learned so much. I learned to work through depression, sadness, grief and worry. When I say work, I mean hoe rows in the garden, clear land with a machete, build fences, set posts, care for animals, repair my diesel tractor and so much more. I learned the power of sweat to wash away tears. The devastation of my children moving away from the life that I had dreamed for our little team led me to more work. I built outdoor kitchens, shower houses, a road, a campground and eventually a name for myself. I built myself up into the person I wanted to be.
I remember telling my middle child that everything that happens anywhere happens on some land somewhere. You don’t have to be a farmer to be a steward of the land. Having a bit of land to call your own will make it easier to do anything you want to do in this life, the way you want to do it. I believe that’s one of those lessons that life in our current system will teach in time. I’ve learned the patience of letting life provide the wisdom that family cannot. Every beauty salon, mechanic shop, lawyer’s office, farm or club is on the land. That’s the beauty of it.
If we determine our dreams must become reality, the process of accessing them in some way, shape or form will require us to build relationships with the space they must take up. Even the internet happens on land! Where do you think all those servers are set up? Where do the minerals come from that run our computers and smart phones?
My transition from urban to rural life has been full of learning. One of the most important lessons is about the seasons. What we learn, when and how will help to shape how we engage with the world that we live in, with and on. My transition to rural life has clarified for me that “normal” can be a way of life that we create for ourselves. Since my children left this land, I have begun to build the structures, community and connections that would have served them well when they were growing up. The hardest thing to reckon with is that building it while raising them was a near-impossible feat. Now, what they will come back to when they arrive again in Alabama will be a fully developed cooperative business. Multiple houses. A prolific garden. More eggs than anyone could ever eat. People who share their interests and can enhance their knowledge, wisdom and abilities. They will return to a place where the transition they experienced can be processed, acknowledged and hopefully healed from. A new normal is not only possible, but a responsibility of each of us who seeks true connection and creation.
They will one day return to a mother who has learned myself by working my dreams into reality. A mother who will be able to hear, see and feel in new ways.
My relationship with the land, my transition to rural life continues. As it does, so does my education about myself. This is been the gift of land stewardship… the space and opportunity to build… Me.