I wrote this back in October but it was too real and raw to share then. It still is a bit, but I felt like I could bear to share and it was finally the right time. I hope you can feel the love through it.
Has anyone else ever used your grandma's dishes to cook with or sleep under a quilt she made and get a bit weepy? Well I made some banana breads in my Nana's white Pyrex pans last night and like a crazy person wound up a sobbing hot mess on the floor.
Mind you, my Nana and Gramps are still alive and well but this week I said goodbye to their home. The home they've lived in for over 60 years. My second home.
As a farm kid, when mom and dad are working, moving equipment or whatever it was, you stayed with your grandparents. It becomes as familiar to you as your own skin. You know where the forks are kept, you know what shows they watch, and at what times. You know that when you come over they will make pancakes and tuck you in at night. You know which candy is ok to take and which candy is Gramps' and off limits to kids! You know which sink has the faucets where hot and cold are backwards. And most of all you know you're allowed to be free.
For the rest of my life I know I'll still be able to trace my every step, hear the heater vent clang under my feet, and feel ever give in the floor. I'll hear the squeak of the hall closet doors and the sound of barn swallows making their nests above the back door. I can still smell their house. It's a scent that is ingrained in my memory as deep as my own. I know every inch of that place. Even the ones that we weren't supposed to be in. I know that if you sit by the heater vent in the den you can hear the "grown-ups" conversations in the living room. I know where that nickel sized hole in the basement ceiling tile came from. I know why the numbers 83 are on the closet door in my dad's old bedroom. I know which cabinet Nana kept her liquor in. Don't worry Nana we never could bring ourselves to be brave enough to break the seal on it. The sound of Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune on TV still makes my ears perk up and mind sharpen. I had to beat Gramps to solve the puzzle. Though it was a rarity.
I can still hear calves bawling out the window. I can still feel my bare feet clinging to the rough bark on a
branch in the peach tree as we harvested at the end of summer. I can still feel my heart quicken from fright and embarrassment of locking myself in the bathroom, twice. The sound of billiard balls clacking together makes me look around for my sister, or cousins. I swear when I close my eyes I can still hear the whirr of Nana's sewing machine in action. Or see the column of numbers left on the leather topped table between their recliners from Gramps double checking the calculator. Because technology isn't always correct you know.
The oil pit in the shop where I learned from Dad to take care of my own vehicle, is no longer used. The kitchen is empty. Nana's sewing machine is gone. Along with her tiny curios that we weren't supposed to touch but did anyways. No more ginger snap cookies, or butterscotch candies can be found.
There's no one working calves in the pens, or squash and tomatoes growing in the garden. No, they have all been replaced by tumbleweeds now. Jake the old blue heeler is gone. Just like my favorite of the dogs they had, Smoky the German Shepard/coyote. Neither one will be running to greet you in the yard as you walk up. The driveway is no longer marked by the iron sign bearing Gramps' name. Neither is the mailbox, that had to be moved continually because Gramps kept running it over.
Just under a year ago the laughter of all my grandparents descendants filled that warm, cozy living room as we played Bad Santa gift exchange and snacked on homemade goodies. Part of our lives and our hearts will always be in that place. Some more than others. Life moves on and so must we with it. The farm may just be a piece of land or a house to some, but to all who knew and loved that house and that land and everyone in it, we will always call it home.
Photo Credit to Justin Herber