Memories of Home

Yesterday was hard.  Harder than I could have ever imagined.  The home where I spent my newborn through teenage years was turned over to another family.  In a way, it was as if I was being suffocated with Mama's and Daddy's deaths all over again.  The home they literally built.  The final tangible piece of them gone.  All I can do now is look back on the memories.  The woods where my Daddy taught me about the different kinds of oak leaves.  The long driveway I rode my bike up and down endless times and scraped my knees on roller skates.  That driveway is also the site of a funny story where I witnessed my nephew roll backwards down the hill when he hit neutral in my sister's car.  I was like maybe 4 years old and calmly reported the incident to my family indoors.  We've laughed about that so many times.  There are so many other memories.  The oak tree that they planted the year I was born, affectionately dubbed "The Beth Tree".  The apple tree that grew from the clipping I stuck in a fire ant bed while Daddy was trimming.  The bbq pit, the strawberry patch, the dog pens where I watched many puppies be born.  We had so many dogs over the years.  The spot by the carport where Daddy had a dump truck load of sand delivered just for me to play in.  Mama just loved that.  I can remember many a times her washing my thick hair over the kitchen sink to get all of the sand out.  There were four wheeler rides to and from the pond and around and around the house.  There was fishing at the pond off of the pier.  Daddy standing at the stove making barbecue sauce or dressing.  The smell of Mama baking chocolate or lemon icebox pies. Fresh veggies from Daddy's garden.  Christmases with nieces, nephews, and wrapping paper everywhere.  Suppers around the table every night while we played along with Wheel of Fortune. (Something that happens in our home as well.)  Saturday and Sunday morning breakfasts with the smell of bacon filling the house.  Daddy standing in the carport grilling steaks every weekend.  Swinging on the porch.  Swinging and singing on my squeaky swingset in the backyard.  Easter egg hunts.  Birthday parties.  Summers where they pulled their cars out of the carport, connected the water hose, and let me play for hours in the water hose, slipping and sliding on the cold concrete.    The year we were so excited about satellite television because it meant we would get more than 5 channels.  My secret hideouts in the woods where I would go and read.   The sound of that screen door slapping closed... all.of.the.time.  Daddy could never stay indoors very long.  Where the words of advice were spoken "Be yourself and nobody else." "Waste not, want not"  and "Kill them with kindness."
Were there times that were not sunshine and unicorns?  Absolutely.  The good and bad of life are what God uses to mold us into the person He has created us to be.  I can choose to remember the happy times, though.   I think that they would be proud to know that when I reflect back on my time there, I appreciate the childhood they gave me.  It's so eye opening to me that when I think back, it's the experiences I remember, not what they bought me.  I pray Reece can reflect back and feel the same one day.

February 1983

Building Hwy 25

Under "The Beth Tree"

The Pond