Draw Me a Map of the Way to Your Heart

Photo essay of hand-drawn maps

For many years I’ve kept a folder labeled “Hand-drawn Maps.” I began collecting them on a whim, and I continued on a whim.

This week I pulled out the folder and photographed some of the maps for you. These are sweet, nostalgic artifacts of a time before GPS and Google Maps, when the only way to get to an unfamiliar place was to have someone tell you how to go—or better yet, draw you a map.

Now I understand why I held on to these.

Oh, and I’ve added a sweet, nostalgic poem that I just wrote.

My partner Raven lived near Crawfordville, Florida when I first met him. Here is a map he drew for me. An Adirondack chair greeted me at the driveway.

When you are ready for a visit

draw out for me the path to your hearth,

map of the way to your heart.

Trace it in pencil, line it in poke

sketch on a scroll of dry corn husk,

scrap of the way to x-marks-the-spot.

I am here, you there, emptiness between.

Mapmaker—draw me a map,

serious code sketched out in a letter,

left on a windshield, tacked to a door,

spelling out how I should travel

from my living place to yours.

Route 7, Highway 334, Broad Street,

fork in the road, the river,

shortcut to St. Johnsbury,

third stop light, roundabout, Mirror Lake,

For Sale sign, 2nd house on left, label lone

bull pine, cattle guard, woodshed, big oak.

Leave lines of breath, song lines. Mapmaker,

mark the way clearly with arrows—

start here, count the gates, turn.

When the time has come for a visit

and I don’t know the landmarks, not yet,

prepare directions for me

And I will follow the twists and turns

that lead me to you,

map of the way to your heart.

This is a sweet canoe paddle on the Ohoopee River near the farm where I now live, Red Earth. It takes about 3 hours to get from the boat ramp on 147 to the takeout on Rocky Range Road.

The thing I love most about this map is that it’s my dad’s handwriting. Not the part that says “Mule Day.” But words like “Baxley” and “Nichols” are in my dad’s all-caps scribble.

I kept this map from Montana. I assume it’s Annick’s handwriting.

Apparently from somewhere in France. Sorry this is blurry.

Longleaf pines like lime-flavored lollipops.

Susan Cerulean organized a book release party for Between Two Rivers at Tall Timbers Research Station, north of Tallahassee. Susan has always been so good at this kind of event.

I wrote about the Rafthand reunions in Wild Card Quilt. This is my territory.

I recognize “B’ham” so this has to be Alabama. My favorite part is “Wave at Waverly.”

You should be able to guess Vermont by “covered bridge.” I assume that our friends at Amazing Planet Farm are showing us the way to raw milk.

Lafayette County is Faulkner Country, from when I was writer-in-residence for a year at the University of Mississippi.

Highlands, NC. I like the maps that contain a compass rose, or in this case an arrow indicating North.

Next Week

I will be writing about the latest restoration work at Cedar Grove, an old school and church in my neighborhood that I’m restoring with the help of many people. I need to do a fundraiser, and I hope by next Wednesday that I have big news for you. I hope you can come visit Cedar Grove, and if so, I will get you there by hand-drawn map.