I would have to admit that I am probably a little more (or a lot more) sentimental than my siblings.
There is nothing good or bad about this but I do find myself affected differently than my siblings at times.
When my parents sold the house we grew up in I was a wreck!
I love connections to the past and places.
Not surprising with my love of vintage items, history, art and traditions.
They bought a small farm about 15 minutes from the small town I grew up in.
We loved that small farm and all of its imperfections right away (at least most of the imperfections:-)).
I can not even count the times I have driven alone with my children driving across Colorado, Nebraska, Iowa and Illinois to make it to that farm.
I started making that drive alone when Benjamin was a baby and it has always been a little adventure that I did with my children.
At any point we could decide we wanted to head to the farm, pack the Jeep and make our way towards “home”.
It wasn’t the house I had grown up in but it was the same towns, same dirt roads, same faces and same cornfields.
It was home.
The farm became the place to walk on dirt roads, built tree houses, gather around a large bonfire, exploring in the fields, Grandma’s grape popsicles, playing with Lizzie the dog, catching fireflies, rides on the tractors, afternoons on a blanket in the orchard and swinging high from the rope swing.
The past 2 1/2 years that my parents have been going through their divorce the farm was often a sweet and quiet place to work through our emotions.
I don’t know how that little farm gave us so much comfort…but it did.
Maybe it was the last “home” we would come back to and we knew it.
Once the divorce had started I always left not knowing if it would be the last time that I would walk those dirt roads and that always made it a treasure.
When I was told that the farm would be sold as part of the divorce I felt ripped off.
In the midst of my family breaking a part I don’t know why the farm seemed too much.
It was my children’s favorite place in the world.
My husband usually is the main one to see my tears and when I was told the farm would sell I couldn’t even pretend I wasn’t devastated.
As the farm was being prepared to sell there were little things that prepared all of us.
It was a mental and emotional journey…at least for me.
The little things helped the children too.
When we knew people were looking at the farm that was one step.
When all of the children’s tree houses were torn down there were many tears from my youngest…but it was a step.
As years were packed up and my mom made her move to Colorado that was another step.
The farm has been sold now.
I didn’t cry this time.
I cried over a year ago when I was told it would sell because I felt sorry for myself.
Just being honest.
Ever since I left for college I have always had a place to come home to.
I had made that journey from 18 years old all the way to 41 years.
To think that there was no place to go home anymore was hard to get used to.
Over the past 2 1/2 years and definitely the past year I have come to terms with home and what it now means to me.
Home is the people I love.
Home may always mean the cornfields of Illinois in some sense but it won’t be where I journey.
Home is now Colorado or wherever Kelly and I plant our feet.
I mourned the adventure of heading “home” that the children and I would no longer share.
We decided the other night that just because there is no farm doesn’t stop our love of just heading out and creating adventures together.
We started making our list of all the places we want to start driving together and exploring.
It is a good one.
We have people we love in so many places and they are our “home” too.
So to our friends in San Diego, San Clemente, Portland, Seattle, Edmonds, Utah, Idaho, Illinois, DC, San Francisco..be ready….we are coming home!