Out in the country, things move slower. Things rarely change. I take the same road, to the same homes that are painted the same color since I was little. Only now I bring a husband, and a baby of my own.
The same green truck, my great grandfather's truck, is in the same pasture sitting where we took pictures in our swimsuits, eating popcicles, when I was three years old.
There are dogs in the yard. Dogs on the floor. They’re Labradors. They’re family too.
There’s always chatter. And laughter. And big, huge hugs.
“Well, hi,” they say, as they all swarm over.
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My visits are few and far between these days. And when I finally do come, I always wonder why it’s not more often.
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Dave’s in the kitchen. The big boys down stairs. My mother, with her apron on, always cutting someone’s hair
.
My dad sits in the corner, with his legs crossed, arms folded. He’s quiet. He’s listening.
Music’s playing from the player in the corner, by the hearth. I don’t think it’s ever been moved.
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When we’re together, we’re always eating. And laughing. And talking. All at once.
{I mean,
everyone is talking.}
The same green truck, my great grandfather's truck, is in the same pasture sitting where we took pictures in our swimsuits, eating popcicles, when I was three years old.
There are dogs in the yard. Dogs on the floor. They’re Labradors. They’re family too.
There’s always chatter. And laughter. And big, huge hugs.
“Well, hi,” they say, as they all swarm over.
------
My visits are few and far between these days. And when I finally do come, I always wonder why it’s not more often.
------
Dave’s in the kitchen. The big boys down stairs. My mother, with her apron on, always cutting someone’s hair
.
My dad sits in the corner, with his legs crossed, arms folded. He’s quiet. He’s listening.
Music’s playing from the player in the corner, by the hearth. I don’t think it’s ever been moved.
------
When we’re together, we’re always eating. And laughing. And talking. All at once.
{I mean,
everyone is talking.} And carrying on six different conversations. Crazy thing is, somehow, we’re listening to all six. Clay’s big stories, even bigger voice. Grandma’s wild wardrobe. Me, and others laying on the floor, lounged on the couch, legs draped across laps.
When we’re together, we’re all laughing, chattering. It’s really loud. And I love taking it all in.
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Jared and I have owned three different houses since we were married just a little over three years ago. I’ve loved each one, made each a home.
But, oh, how I love the country. That same old song. I love how, year after year, my aunts and uncles and cousins revisit the same places for the same holidays, the same get-togethers. It’s peaceful. It’s familiar.
I heard this saying once: “home is where you are”. I really believe that. Home is where our families are. And for me, that peaceful home feeling is in the country.
Jared and I have owned three different houses since we were married just a little over three years ago. I’ve loved each one, made each a home.
But, oh, how I love the country. That same old song. I love how, year after year, my aunts and uncles and cousins revisit the same places for the same holidays, the same get-togethers. It’s peaceful. It’s familiar.
I heard this saying once: “home is where you are”. I really believe that. Home is where our families are. And for me, that peaceful home feeling is in the country.
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Driving back, I tell Jared I want to move to someplace old, and then never move again.
Driving back, I tell Jared I want to move to someplace old, and then never move again.
I tell shaun the same thing. I want to live so far out in the country that the date doesn't seem like 2009 but 1960's 1970's. There are a couple of towns like that around here. I'm just trying to pick one! I want to live where my neighbors live down the road a ways instead of next to me...
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