November 3, 2014

Writing It All Down

Not to far from me is this little old house built in the early 1800's. Like most old homes and buildings around here, I watch them waste away year after year, wishing I could restore them, give tours of them where I tell the story of the families that came and went from them, and then write a book about them.

I often wonder why the people who came from places like this have not done this-and why the current landowners would let the home decay (they have their reasons, I'm sure). And I know that as much as I'd love to tell a story about someone else home life, I have yet to tell/write my own. For years I have always wanted to do this, leave a special part of my life in written form. And anymore, I'd also love to do this about our land. Our land has a history in itself in that since we've lived here for twenty something years there are plenty of trees where once there were none. Certain wildflowers have come and gone only to be replaced by more aggressive ones. Blackberries have taken over black raspberries, and grapevine now canopies a great majority of the trees. There is a lot to tell. And year after year, I make it a point to learn something new about our land, about a plant or animal that lives here. A lot of times I wonder about places far from me, when in truth I wonder why I do; There is forever a wealth of things to learn about the owls, bats, snakes, groundhogs, rabbits, deer, insects, trees, flowers, soil, seeds, neighbors, and seasons, right here. And in every discovery, I become closer to nature and learn more about myself and what is most important to me. Someday soon, I hope to start a book about living here and how the land has changed. It is my hope of passing a book or two along to the new owners who might live here. Often we think our children will always take our place, but as we learn decades later things can change. Circumstances may arise that take our children elsewhere. I hope this never happens to me, but no matter who lives here, I want them to know how much this place means to me, and what it has done for us in the way of feeding our family, making memories, relieving stress, giving hope, adding a new chapter in this never-ending history on my road. 

And so, when I walk by this weathered log house in the photo, I think about the mother and father, and the many children who lived here. What a beautiful story to be told, no matter the seemingly hard life they had.

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