How I Honor Your Memory, The Best Way I Can
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I traveled the road you see above from before I can remember, until the last time I did, in 2017. That was likely my last trip there, as there’s no longer a reason for me to visit. Unless I can figure out a way to procure one of the street signs. It has my name on it, after all.
This is the road I grew up on, with my house just about in the middle, and my grandparent’s farm all the way at the end. Once I was old enough to ride a bike, I would make the mile or so trek down there alone, to get away from the hot mess that was my childhood beneath my roof.
The house is no longer there. Once both of my grandparents passed away, it had to be sold, as no one of us could afford to buy everyone else’s shares out. Believe me when I tell you, I tried to find a way. My grandfather placed the land the house sat on, and 99 of the surrounding acres in The Nature Conservancy, so that it couldn’t be sold off in pieces and developed, which I’m thankful for; because that’s exactly what would have happened.
I have some greedy family members.
What hurts my heart, more than I can explain, is the people who ended up purchasing the 99 acres and the house, refuse us entrance. In the beginning, they said they would have no issue with it. After all, it’s been our family farm for over 70 years. All of my Dad’s siblings, and himself, grew up there. But thanks to a certain family member behaving like a complete ass, none of us are welcome there any longer.
Growing up, my first glimpse of this Civil War era home was like soul balm. I couldn’t have told you that then, I just knew that I could breathe easier, my always tight muscles would release their tension, and I could smile. I would throw my bike into the front yard, and immediately run to the barn.
