She was only fifteen when she ran off with the hired hand on her daddy’s farm and got married in Oakland, Maryland. She finished eighth grade, and could read and write and cipher. PopPop was twenty-two. He also left school when his daddy died young, leaving his mama to raise five little boys under the age of ten. He was the oldest and he needed to help feed his little brothers.

Grandma always dreamed of having a farm of their own where they could raise their kids and feed them with what they could grow. She was a farm girl, after all. I have pictures of her riding the plow horse when my great grandfather put up hay for their cattle. Grandma saw that long drink of water in my PopPop and the rest, as they say, is history. 

Life has a way of happening in spite of what you plan. I’m still learning of their early years. I know they were married in 1921. Her first born was a little boy, named after his daddy. He was born sleeping in 1924. I do not know where he was laid to rest, but I do know that my mom was born the following year in Indiana where PopPop and Grandma had gone for work. Their second child was born in Illinois the year before the Great Depression began. They had two more children before they headed back home to West Virginia. They had six children before the Depression ended.

As I moved things around yesterday, preparing to pack up the last of my belongings, I noticed something was taped to the window frame in Grandma’s room. When I took a closer look, I smiled. I’m sure the rest of the article clipped from the Journal Star of Peoria, Illinois is somewhere in my papers. I remember it was a photo of some flowers in a garden…Lily of the Valley, to be exact. They reminded Grandma of home, so she cut that picture out and vowed to find her a farm where these delicate little flowers could grow. She finally did, sometime between 1932 and 1934.

West Virginia was home to both of them, and they soon found a place back on the hill on this very farm. Eventually, they purchased the farm and moved down off the hill into the present house. Grandma always said…this farm was her dream and she never wanted to live anywhere else in the whole wide world.

When my grandma became older, my Aunt Peeps took this clipping and taped it to the window frame in Grandma’s bedroom where she could look at it. She always called this place her little slice of heaven, and my aunt wanted her to see her coming heavenly home as something loved and familiar.

As I sat on the front porch during my dinner break, it started raining. I threw a handful of old English Walnuts into the yard to lure the squirrels out for a treat. I noticed a little scuffle under the rhododendron and soon, out popped mama robin with three fledglings chasing her…wanting to be fed. They’re big enough to eat on their own…but they wanted the comfort of something familiar. I could relate.

You see, even though I’ve been saying I let go of the farm already, it’s obvious to anyone reading my posts the last couple of weeks…that wasn’t quite true. It’s the same as these little fledgling robins…I need to leave the nest, but I want the place to feed me. I once climbed a cliff with Hubby #2. When I looked down, I froze. He tried to talk me out of my fear but I was escalating. Finally, he calmly said…

“Well, you can figure out a way to move on from this point, or you can buy real estate here.”

I got the same message yesterday from a very dear friend. She shoots from the hip and kicks me in the butt when I need it.

“Look, you’re going to either need to buy the d*** place, or move on. You can’t stay where you are.”

They were both right…unless I’m prepared to buy the real estate where I am…and I just can’t. I mean…I COULD, but I shouldn’t, I have to find a way to move on. I’m finding little bread crumbs…marking the trail in the direction I need to go. Finding this little snippet of old, crackly newspaper with my aunt’s shaky writing on it let me know I’m on the right track. It says…

“Mom’s Lily of the Valley”

It was a picture of what she dreamed of having one day. This was it…her special place. She made sure I loved it like she did. And now she’s leading me on to great adventures elsewhere. (It’s more accurate to say, my memories of her are inspiring me. I’m not ACTUALLY having conversations with dead people.) I’m not sure what the next adventure will look like, but I know who my traveling partner is…my sweet Mr. FixIt. And, as he says…

“There’s always an adventure with Ginny McKinney!”

My story isn’t finished yet, but I’m telling you what…I am so grateful to have had this little slice of heaven to call my home and to love with all my heart, whether I owned it or not.

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“Everything on earth has its own time and its own season.”

Ecclesiastes 3:1 CEV