The Home Place

She missed the summer picnics most of all.

And the people who attended them of course…

Relatives would come from as far as Philly and as close as the other side of the block, cutting through the woods that separated their houses. Her mom would make lots of salads, and there would be food and drink, music and games to play. The kids would roam the property together, exploring the trails and the small stream, under the watchful eye of an aunt or two, and there would be games like badminton, and croquet, while the grown-ups tossed horseshoes. 

There was a lot of laughter, loud talk and music, and while there may have been disagreements, or even arguments, the love they all shared together was always with them.

Many of these picnics would end around a fire, with music, conversations and more laughter. In the end though, there would be sleepy kids (and a few adults who were worn out from the day) dozing off by the fire, laying on blankets or sitting in lawn chairs, as all became quiet, except for the sound of insects filled the night, kept at bay by the smoke from the fire.

These were the days that smelled of insect repellent, sun-tan lotion, barbecue, and the smoke that hung in the thick, humid air.

She swore she could smell these scents now, years after the last picnic, as she stood on the old patio, looking out over the sloping grass, just now becoming the rich shade of green that announced that summer was imminent.

Although all was empty and still, the land was alive with the history of her family, carrying memories of when her parents, aunts, uncles and cousins were young, enjoying life and each other. It told the story of the generations who had lived on the land, experiencing the joys and the pains of lives lived on life’s terms.

This piece of land had helped to make her who she was, as he knew it from exploring the woods as a child, the summer picnics and fall hikes, to four-wheeling with her own children, and time spent with her parents as they grew into old age…the land was a part of her.

This is why it was so difficult for her to let it go…

But no one seemed to understand this.

Her boyfriend and even some family members encouraged her to simply “let it go” as if it meant nothing!

Some said this because they wanted the burden lifted from her, while others wanted the money from the estate, but no one seemed capable of understanding the strong connection she had to the property itself.  A connection that seemed stronger now that most of her family was gone. Parents and siblings had passed as had her beloved uncles, and her remaining aunts were in their 90’s and many of the cousins who were left had grown distant.

Her children were now grown and seemed to have grown indifferent to the home place, as they had their own interests to pursue.

So much had changed, yet the land, the place, still remained!

Although most of the furniture and belongings had been cleared out of the house, the place where she grew up, it remained filled with memories. Every surface was known, and as she rounded every corner, or walked into the next room, she was greeted by ghosts, as she expected to see a familiar face, a smile, a wink, as she turned every corner, and kept listening to hear her name called from another room.

Even empty, the house was filled with memories, just as the land held history.

This is why it was so difficult for her to simply let it go, to see it sold off to strangers who would never know how important the place was as they created their own history there.

While she was afraid of the property being subdivided or simply trashed, she also felt that giving another family the opportunity to enjoy the space, to build their own memories could be a good thing.

She also knew it would be good for her to continue her own story, with her own children and grandchildren.

But logic and emotion are two different things, and can pull a person in two different directions, each can leave one with a deep sense of melancholy.

This was clear to her on this bright morning. As she looked down the hill where she once played, to the woods she loved to explore, the place where the old house once stood, and the wide lawn where the picnics were held, she could feel that history tugging on her soul.

She knew what needed to be done…but it was so hard to let go.

Steps had been taken, offers had been made, and decisions awaited herm with finality.

There were angry emails and people pushing her to make these decisions…but for the moment, none of these mattered.

For the moment, all that mattered was that she was here, looking out at the grass and the green trees, watching as summer approached. She thought she could see some movement in the brush that could be a squirrel or a deer. She could hear the leaves rustling in the breeze, birds calling to each other, and a car passing on the road.

However, if she listened closely enough, she could hear the echoes of laughter, the ring of a horseshoe tossed, or a croquet ball being batted, along with the faint sounds of the country/bluegrass that her parents loved to play as everyone gathered together for another picnic…one that would never end, but continue on as one long summer afternoon that never quite faded into evening.

This is why it was so hard to let go…