I’ve written about where I
live several times before. When we moved
here 34 years ago we were two city kids with three children under five, soon to
have another on the way, and knew pretty much nothing about rural life.
One thing we learned right
away, you’re considered a neighbor even when you live several miles away. The first neighbors we met lived in three
households, elderly parents in one home and their two adult sons and their
son’s families in two other homes.
Now 34 years later, today
we learned the last son passed away. And
so today I can’t help but think of all that family meant to my family through
the years. Mrs. Finch, a surrogate
grandmother to my children, spending hours with them playing games and telling
stories. From her, my children learned
the history of their home. And then her
grandchildren, while all older than mine, were kind to also be playmates to my
children.
This extended family was
something we aspired to be one day. We dreamt
how one day it would be our family growing and spreading out across the area,
remaining neighbors. Unfortunately, that
didn’t happen. All of our children chose
to move to the city to raise their families.
Now I look out at this
beautiful place where I live and I know that much how the places we’ve lived
become a part of us, in that same way I’m sure this place remembers all those who
lived, grew, loved and moved on from this place. And not only are we sad today but so is this
place.
