Writing for five unedited minutes on the prompt “Place” for Five Minute Friday.
Last Friday, I was alone in my home–a rare evening when my husband was out of town and my children were with my in-laws.
I took a stroll in the balmy evening. My one-mile walk led me to my family’s farm, and I walked around it freely, since my grandma was also out of town that night.
In a shorter time than I’d like to face, the farm will no longer house someone from my family. My grandma will turn 80 next year, and when she’s gone, in all likelihood the farm will be dissolved. My own family of five will be the last remaining family members left in the area, which has been the homeplace of six generations of my family.
This 100 acres has been in my family for generations, and it’s sad to know this place will change sooner than I’d like.
I walked around the garden, near the old chicken house, under the apple tree, and near the barnyard. So many memories flooded back. As the first great-grandchild, I have the most memories of any of my siblings or cousins. Many good memories of my great-grandparents and grandparents washed over me. I treasure the thousands of memories from that special place.
Even when the land isn’t in the family anymore, it will always be the place I feel most at home. The family farm was a constant for me as a child of divorce. I have always craved a solid, secure homeplace, and the farm was a peaceful haven for me.
Ten days from now, I plan to sit in the front field while I watch the solar eclipse. My great-grandparents are buried nearby, and I will remember the presence of many other family members in the brief and beautiful historic moment.
Questions for reflection:
Do you remember a family homeplace? Is it still in your family? If not, how did you feel when it passed into someone else’s possession?
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