that maketh wretch or happy, rich or poor.
Sitting here at my Mom’s typing on my computer trying to find the words to express what I am feeling about spending more than one hour circling my old family home while looking for any little tidbit of secrets it has been hiding I find I am not sad but not happy either. My Mom says she is a little sad but happy someone will be living in a nice warm house by spring. I cannot believe it is finally gone.
First off I am a little disappointed that I missed the knocking down moment, I had to go feed a “Little Orphan Annie”, more on that later, that is another story. I finished my chores as fast as I could and got out of the house and raced to the little village where I grew up knowing that after seeing a huge dumpster sitting there all weekend that today had to be that day.
I raced down the back roads and highways hoping I was not going to miss it. I turned the familiar corner and seen an empty space, a huge pile of rubble, a big yellow shovel and two workman with fluorescent safety vests and hardhats on, standing on the street talking. My heart sunk and I parked and introduced myself to the young men.
It turned out that I knew the one young fellow since he was a kid; I asked him I could take some photos. I am pretty sure he understood my need when I babbled on about living there most of my life and I could not just watch it go without something to look at later. He smiled his sparkling smile and let me go. I pulled out my camera and started circling like a Turkey Vulture trying to find any tiny morsel that would bring my memories back. Something that would soothe that sense of loss I knew would eventually come no matter how much I may try to deny it, I know it will happen.
First I looked at the already full dumpster filled to the brim with boards, siding, insulation and tree branches. I looked around my eyes darting quickly back and forth, the beautiful Ash tree that sheltered my Mom and Dad’s bedroom from those hot summer days was just a deep huge gaping hole in the back yard now, the tree lies dying on the back fence line covering the whole length of the property, its roots exposed. My Dad loved that tree it had been there a very long time. I see a white branch lying on the snow near what used to be my house near the pile of rubble piled in the middle of what used to be my home; it was the Birch Bark tree.
This was the tree My Hero and I had dug up, dragged six miles in the back of an old pickup and planted in my Mom and Dad’s yard. It came from the “Lovely three bedroom brick house with two bathrooms and a full basement with a fireplace that we built ourselves” yard we lived in before the farm auction long ago after which we had to sell that home so My Hero and I could start the humbling “Our Journey”.
Now it was gone knocked over and piled in a dumpster like it was nothing.
Well now where did that come from? It appears I may have more buried feelings and issues about this whole tearing down thing than I thought.