Charles Dickens was speaking of the events leading up to the French Revolution, of course. And my little slice of reality is nothing in comparison. However, whenever we are going through hard things, our things are the hardest things because they’re OUR things. Grief has many sources, and it’s no small thing to walk away from your family home.
I’ve been at the farm since Saturday afternoon. I thought I’d get a lot done yesterday, but I did not. And that’s ok. I sat on the front porch most of the day, staring at my grandma’s huge rhododendron. It isn’t lost on me that THE most beautiful peak of bloom is occurring during my last official day here. Tomorrow evening is the close of the auction. I’ve asked everyone I know to buy the farm so I can still come here. Who knows the fate of this land besides God? I just have this wonderful feeling it’s going into the hands of someone who will love it the same as I do. I’m going to stand on that conviction.
I was a sponge yesterday…soaking up every ounce of love from this place. I awoke to the beloved sound of a gentle rain on the tin roof…even though we had no such rain predicted. I drove over to the service station-diner-convenience store-tire center early to get some butter. I forgot to bring some over and I want pancakes on my last morning here. The time passed all too quickly and just as the light began to change, I snapped this shot of the perfect blossoms on the perfect bush in the most perfect place I know. I sat on the porch and watched the chipmunks chasing each other around the yard. A flicker kept sweeping in to the old, rotten stump of the poplar tree my PopPop planted years ago…snatching an insect here and there, then flying on. A big, fat rabbit slowly made its way along the base of the spirea along the ditch by the road….nibbling on the new grass and avoiding the bee balm and flags.
The neighbor across the road was planting his garden. It’s always so lovely because he keeps the deer out with an electric fence. Otherwise, it’s nothing but a salad bar for critters. His wife came out with Molly, their one year old lab pup who is full of boundless energy. Bees from the hives down the road buzzed from flower to flower. I happily munched on my sandwich, sharing some chips with the chipmunks. Four-wheelers came one by one down the road…heading back home after a fun day of “muddin’” on the area’s many dirt roads that lead to old oil and gas wells and timber cuts.
As night fell, I talked with Mr. FixIt. I told him I saw him on the security camera planting OUR garden. I laughed and told him he can’t get away with anything now that we’ve put those in! lol We hung up and I came in, locking the doors behind me…just as Grandma did over the decades she lived in this little red house in the holler. This is my last day. The last night I’ll spend in my grandma’s house. Even if it DOES sell to someone I know and even if I DO get to sleep in here again…it’ll be different. It won’t be ours…mine. Not physically, anyway.
Life is still lovely…and it will go on. More stories will come. I’ll remember things I haven’t told you about the old home place. And…more likely than not…I’ll tell you stories I’ve told you before. I’m of that age, you know. It’s one of the joys of growing older…you get to tell stories with freshness because you can’t remember who you’ve told them to before. Probably easier on me than you, come to think of it.
The barred owl came to talk softly to me in the growing darkness. He didn’t give his usual full call….just a short “coo” to let me know he was there. Then, ever so slowly, he made his way from tree to tree…getting further and further away…till I could just barely hear him in the woods on the far hill. Fitting, I think….that things get softer and further away as I let this lovely place go.
Tomorrow morning, you’ll read of my last night here…but it’s surely not the last you’ll hear about the farm.
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“I will bless you with a future filled with hope—a future of success, not of suffering. You will turn back to me and ask for help, and I will answer your prayers.”
Jeremiah 29:11-12 CEV