The truck was packed so tightly that it reminded me of the button-fly jeans I’d worn last Thanksgiving…
The light shines bright at the Neon Moon in Pendleton County, KY. Photo/S McCloud
Like a moth to a flame, we are drawn to certain places. Being a spiritual person and sensitive to energies, I exercise caution in where I visit and with whom I spend my time, and equally importantly, I take great heed where I hang my hat.
The lavish rolling hills with a little fog for ambiance at the Neon Moon at Valhalla. Photo/S McCloud
As mentioned in my previous column, “In Search of the Neon Moon,” my family and I decided in 2021 to leave Colorado. Unanimously, all of our compasses pointed south. After years of research and a few trips, we set our sights on Tennessee. Specifically, we loved Eastern Tennessee with its beautiful, lush green rolling hills, plenty of outdoor activities, and good ol’ southern hospitality. Our criteria were pretty simple: we wanted a small town within 90 minutes of a major airport, 25 acres or more, and either a decent house or a decent barn.
Since 2021, Collin and I have adventured on several road trips around the state with no particular plans or booked lodging. We enjoyed family trips and experienced the magic of Christmas at Dollywood, took in the sights around Gatlinburg, explored historical monuments, stayed and played at Pigeon Forge, and had many adult trips to Nashville with its music and nightlife experiences. The energy was lively and positive. It was settled—we were Tennessee-bound!
Sophia the pit bull checks out the tobacco farm at the Neon Moon. Photo/S McCloud
In that time, here’s what I learned about myself:
—I most definitely have ADD or ADHD (I can’t be sure which one because I can only self-diagnose so much).
—I’m ultra gabby and can hold a conversation with just about anyone.
—My patience for stupidity is about as short as the wick on a piece of dynamite.
—I love not fitting in ANYWHERE.
—My propensity for doing whatever I want and making erratic decisions is NOT becoming less extreme with age.
—I love being around my children who constantly try to avoid me.
—My husband was created by God just for me, and he may be an actual angel.
—My biggest weakness is that I speak the truth.
—My biggest strength is that I speak the truth.
Side note—Speaking of hats, a little-known, antiquated, and still verifiable law in the beautiful, bourbon-rich state of Kentucky is that a woman cannot purchase a hat without her husband’s direct and express consent. Clearly, as a law-abiding citizen, when I want to wear a hat, I will only do so with the “permission” of the one who wears the pants. That info, of course, comes courtesy of my recently discovered (and self-diagnosed) ADHD.
I digress. Back to the story!
Peace and serenity knock on the door at the Neon Moon. Photo/S McCloud.
Chuckling, I recalled the memories of those trips to find our new home and more as I pulled down the door of our Penske moving truck with all my might. My children pushed the board we’d lodged inside to prevent our cargo from escaping as it was bursting at its seams.
The poor, old truck was packed so tightly it reminded me of the button-fly jeans I’d worn last Thanksgiving. In hindsight, maybe they weren’t the best option to celebrate over-consumption—turkey, our family’s secret stuffing recipe, garlic mashed potatoes with heavy cream AND cream cheese, French-style green beans with almonds, Grandma Lavoy’s cranberry relish with pomegranates, Grandma Betty’s best-ever salad, and a plethora of Nonie’s pies—strawberry rhubarb, apple, 2 pumpkins, cherry, banana cream, chocolate, and bourbon chocolate pecan.
As my body tried to jump out of my jeans, I unbuttoned the top 2 buttons to relieve the pressure and prevent the miniature metal discs from popping off and putting out the eye of an unsuspecting relative as we all lazed about after the gluttonous meal.
***
As my two youngest kids pushed back on the board, I coaxed the unwilling door down with all the strength I could muster after a long day of packing and moving. It seemed short of a miracle that the children managed to get out of the way as the door gained momentum before the “buttons” popped off putting their eyes out.
The lights shine bright at the Neon Moon at Valhalla. Photo S/McCloud
Finally, the beast’s door was slammed shut and locked into place. With so much resistance, it was almost as if the truck could sense the length of the journey ahead and was preemptively protesting. I jumped in and started the engine. The old Penske lurched obstinately.
I plugged “Lexington, Kentucky” into the maps app on my iPhone and headed east toward Nebraska on the first leg of our 18-hour and 18-minute journey. I was heading home. We were heading home.
Skipping back to where I started (dang that ADD/ADHD) as I was saying, “like a moth to a flame,” Collin and I were drawn to the 40-acre Northern Kentucky property almost as if our celestial Father guided us home. After Collin saw it online, it beckoned to him. Like the dickens, he tried to get me to look at it.
But my heart was drawn to Tennessee.
My problem was that neither of us had ever been to Kentucky. It hadn’t been part of the journey in our years-long search for our new home. I resisted looking at the property until I stumbled across it myself. It was the only non-Tennessee property that made its way onto my precise Zillow search.
Partially out of curiosity (and partially to appease my angelic husband), I boarded a flight on March 7, 2024—just 4 days after the beautiful stone house with lavish rolling acres inserted itself almost impossibly into my search.
Before the wheels touched down on the Cincinnati runway, I already knew we were trekking to the house we would be buying. We grabbed our rental car, hit a drive-thru coffee shop for early morning energy, and headed to Greenwood Portland to see “Stone House Farms.”
Until 2020, when the whole world went crazy, Stone House Farms was an event venue on one of the highest points in Pendleton County, boasting 360-degree views for miles.
It was love at first sight. We were truly called to this property. As I stepped out of the rental car and my shoes touched the soil, I felt a positive energy burst through my body, awakening me to all the possibilities that lay before us. We both instantly knew that we were home.
The 1934 Kentucky, stone-built, German farmhouse. Photo/S McCloud
As we toured the old German stone farmhouse and investigated the tobacco barn, the whole property sang a song of welcome to us. As I walked up the hill to our future home, I couldn’t stop tears from escaping down my cheeks. I’d never seen anything quite as beautiful.
The happiness that permeated the property could possibly be explained by all the happy wedding guests who visited. Love—great love—was made and lived here. The energy was inviting, loving, and unmistakably waiting for us. Like a moth to a flame, this house beckoned to us. We would relight the wick and fan the flame of many more love stories beginning in weddings on the pinnacle of Pendleton County.
Like a moth to a flame, we were mesmerized and captured, and so began the birth of our dream—the Neon Moon.
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