I’m grounded to the “farm”. It is where my great-grandparents lived and raised their family, then my grandparents took it over and raised their own family. Now my uncles – two bachelor brothers – live there – and it is where someday, my husband and I shall hopefully retire.
I grew up on the farm – spending my summers with my grandma there. It is peaceful. It is my other home. It is where I feel most connected to my family. And now, I bring my own child there and watch with joy. She finds it to be a world of wonder too as she runs around the property discovering new things.
This old wheelbarrow was once pushed by my grandpa and grandma. Their hands gripped the wooden handles as they carted stuff around the farm. It has since been repainted and the tire has been replaced. I’m sure a bolt or two has also been fixed on it but still – it is the same wheelbarrow. Now my uncles use it to cart things around the farm – mainly to and from the garden. It is chipping, cracking- showing signs of age and someday it will be too far gone to use. But not just yet.
These trees were but seedlings when I was a child. Now, they tower over me. The old farmhouse is no longer on the property, instead, a log house was built – the landscaping – the yard changed to accommodate it. It’s not quite the same. I miss the old house. I miss the way the yard used to be. For me, as a child it was also a magical place. Grandma’s flower beds held fantastical secrets. Cat’s eye marbles “grew” under sea shells placed throughout the flowerbeds. At least that’s what I thought as I excitedly checked each sea shell for a new marble during each visit to the farm.
I look around the farm now and memories abound. I wonder if when I am an old lady – when my own grandchildren come to visit – will they hold the same thoughts, find simple pleasures in the wonder and magic of this place – as I once did and still do? I know I will do my part in maintaining that spark – that joy – that my own grandmother so lovingly ignited.