Sunday, March 27, 2016
Easter: When Small Things Matter Most
Easter makes me think about everything I love; my family, my health and a rich life that constantly changes and evolves. People I love that are gone.
On Good Friday, B-man and I take a little road trip to buy lotto tickets just across the border of a neighboring state, and to drive by the farm where I grew up. We buy the tickets - and beer for later - then wind around the small country road to the farm. Walking through the barnyard, surrounded by collapsed buildings and rusted equipment, I can't help but think of the movie Titanic. Just like the movie, scenes in my mind go back and forth from the wreckage of the present to the past when the farm is at its peak, brimming with life. Now bird songs fill what would otherwise be complete silence.
My grandparents' home remains on the property and it is now owned by a woman who spends her summers here and her winters in Arizona, She arrives earlier than usual this year, which becomes obvious when her two tiny dogs begin barking in the house and Paige, our dog, joins the chorus from outside. B-man and I wander separately around the farm, and I try like always to push my nose against the shed that holds the tractors so I can pick up the scent of diesel, old metal and wood that reminds me of Dad and of home. But it's shut up tight, which keeps the smell locked inside.
As we stand around like sheep separated from their flock, the woman inside comes out and says, 'Okay, which one are you?' (She is used to my family visiting the property.) I tell her I am the second daughter and she says, 'you had dark hair last time I saw you, so that threw me.' Then out of the blue, she asks, 'do you want to come and see the house?'
Much of the house is the same as I remember. Because of the addition of a new deck and new landscaping, I assume that more will be different inside as well, but I am wrong. Everything from the living room, the narrow hallway, high ceilings and entrances to the basement and attic are all the same. Still intact is the porch grandma enclosed to do her oil painting, and so is the built-in vanity of her bedroom that held all sorts of magical perfumes and make-up. I cry and the new owner hands me a tissue. She says when she's ready to sell the house, she will offer it to my siblings first. 'I'll take care of it until it's back in your family.' I hug this woman I barely know and we leave the farm once more.
Throughout the two hour drive home, I keep telling B-man that I love him. I guess it is my way of saying what the day has meant to me and my gratitude that I can share it with him. At one point, I say, 'it's been at least 20 minutes since the last time I said it, but I still love you.' B-man says, 'Yeah, I was beginning to think the honeymoon might be over.' Then he smiles and kisses my hand.
Photo from eastersundayquotes.com