Spring flowers on my walkabout on the Ponderosa.
Besides God, there is only one thing for absolute certain you can count on in life, and that is change. Mr. FixIt doesn’t like change. I usually relish it. I find change exciting and challenging and it can lead to many adventures. But there’s one change I’ve been dreading and the time has come to face it. My uncle is selling the farm.
I’ve known it was coming. And I asked him to put it off a year so we could have a family gathering this summer to say goodbye to the old girl. He was gracious to accommodate me, but we can’t keep putting off the inevitable. Grandma’s farm has been an integral part of my life. I have become who I am because of the love in that home. My roots grow deep in that West Virginia red clay.
I’m so grateful to have had all this time to spend out there. I think I’ve photographed every square inch of the place so I’ll forever have something to look back on. I have indelible memories of time spent there over my nearly sixty-eight years. I have stories and more stories…as you all well know. I imagine you feel you know the place, too.
From the stumps of trees my PopPop planted to the three story barn he and my grand grandfather built…from the cinder block cellar house to the basement they rolled the house down onto when I was six…from the original tin roof to the old smokehouse now teetering precariously by the creek…the farm is as much a part of my life as any of my loved ones. It’s almost as though it is a living, breathing entity…which in some ways, I suppose it is.
We ran to town yesterday to get sand for the pool filter and pick out carpet for the family room when my uncle called me to break the news. It makes me sad, but not as much as it would have had I not been so blessed to have had the last several years to be free to stay whenever I want. I have called around to let family members and close friends know it’s going to be sold. It would be ideal if someone I know buys it. Then, at least I could come back for a visit from time to time.
Then again…maybe it would be best to just make a clean break. To not watch what someone else does with the place. I mean, I have to look at the plus side. I’ve been paying the utilities out there for the last five years so that will be a little extra back in my pocket every month. And, we won’t have to mow out there any more. That will be a huge weight off my shoulders. Still…it’s hard when the home place is gone. My last tangible connection to my family member who have gone on to their rewards.
What was it I said about change? Ahhhh, yes…I relish change.
Just not this one.
This one will be hard.
?
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: – a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;”
Ecclesiastes 3:1, 6 ESV
Heavy heart for you. We didn’t have a farm but our family property on the “creek”(which was as wide as a river off a bay) was sold when I was 23 and I still wish it was a place I could sit and watch the river. Your memories will always make you smile but not being able to step on that grass will remain a sad thought
Yes…that is the hard part. ?
I experienced the same when my grandma’s homestead was sold by my mom and uncle after her death. The new owner leveled the home and all the outbuildings but a hay barn. Nothing else left on the 80 acres where she raised her children, and me, her oldest grandchild. I have an aerial view photograph of the place, but it’s not the same as experiencing the walk along the creek, and daydreaming on a downed cottonwood tree spanning the width of the creek. I did return to it when mother died, but it made me more sad. It’s true that you can’t go home again. It’s good that your uncle is allowing you to say goodbye on your own time.
?
My mother moved one block from her birth home, a home she called her Wee hut hoosie and lived in for 70+ years. Her roots were deeply rooted. I was to inherit the home but circumstances changed. Now, thanks to Zillow, I can visit anytime I want. And. I . Do!
?