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Is This Your Home?

There’s a song that goes, “Over the river and through the woods to Grandma’s house we go…”  It’s a holiday song that many of you may know. One of my favorite lines in this song is this one:

Over the river and through the woods–
and straight through the barnyard gate,
we seem to go extremely slow,
it is so hard to wait!
 

Amish BuggyIn the past years, we’ve made up our own version of this song, it goes like this: Over the hill and through the woods to Grandma’s house we go…

Then it’s like a rocket getting ready to launch and we start to count down… 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, Grandma’s house!! (Pap lives here, too, but the kids still say it’s grandma’s house.)

There’s just something about crossing the county line that I can’t wait to get home. Perhaps it is the familiar sightings, the memories that flash as we drive-by. In the back seat I hear, “We know Mom, you already told us about that.” Yet, if I don’t point them out, they do by saying, “Hey Mom, isn’t that where you went to school? Isn’t that the fair grounds? Isn’t that where you used to ride your horses?”

But it’s on that flat stretch of road, past the fair grounds, past the school, around the curve, and past all our new Amish neighbors that a little patch of woods is spotted and there’s just a slight grade of a hill that I start to sing and my trio in the back joins me. “Over the hill and through the woods…

 
Tractor

You know you’re home when you spot Big Blue. My dad bought this tractor the year I was born. It’s been in our family for as long as I have, and who knows maybe one day Mom will actually let Dad park it in the front yard as a lawn ornament when we can no longer find parts to keep it running.

We arrived home on the farm just in time for the kids to witness new life in the shed.

newborn kittensI love spring on the farm. Even the cows are in agreement with me. The pastures are turning green and the flowers are in bloom now.

Dairy CowsWhenever I say I’m going home, my husband tells me I’m already home. While my physical address is the house I reside in with my husband and children in a town several hours away, the home of my heart will always be the place where my parents raised me.

I’ve tried to become a city girl, but I cringe at the traffic that zooms past our house. I get annoyed with the people who stop and throw their trash in my yard as they walk to the nearest bus stop or take their dogs for walks. I avoid the parks near our home due to past discoveries of items no young child should have to find or parent should have to discuss with their child until they’re at least the teen years.

While living in town has it’s conveniences, it doesn’t have my mom’s kitchen or a hot cup of tea ready in the morning. It doesn’t have cows in the pastures and scents of dried hay and fresh chop (feed for the cows). It doesn’t have dirt lanes for kids to ride their bikes or cousins to chase around the fields and play tag. There are no empty horse stall either, reminding me of piece of my life that I put on hold because of a promise.

Is your home a place that holds your heart? or is it a place that stands by four walls where you reside? Both maybe?

Tomorrow, I’m turning off the kids electronics, mine included. With old clothes and battered shoes, I’m tossing my kids outside in the fresh country air to play. Yep, play. No video games, ipods, or other types of electronics, just them, their imaginations, and a big back yard.

I think I’ll hang out in the barn, maybe muck the place out a bit, and then sit on the swing with my mom and watch the kids have fun.

Ahhh…. this is home, if only for a few days.

 

 

 

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