Going Home
Farm, Homestead Reflections

Going Home

Perhaps it’s because I can finally start to feel Fall approaching.  Perhaps it’s because it will soon be time to start fruitcake for Christmas.  Maybe even because it will soon be time to pick apples, harvest pumpkins, and finish up canning for the year.  It could be because in a matter of days my kitchen will be wafting the heavenly smell of cinnamon and spice all over the neighbourhood.

Or maybe it’s because I have a sink full of dishes, that I don’t want to do.


Whatever the reason, I have an overwhelming sense of thankfulness today for this place that I get to call home.  There are many things I wish I could change.  My nosey neighbours being the primary thing.  Oh how I wish I could just be like poof! And they’d be gone. Or at least deafened to the insistent bawling of my goats.  (I never knew an animal could cry so much over nothing!)

Ahem, but today I am thankful! Yes I am, yes I am, yes I am! So thankful that I felt like sharing just a wee bit of this place with you.

Before moving here we rented a red brick farm house that stood on what was now a small farm in the middle of nowhere.  The farm, once one of the largest in the area, had watched the town grow and change for the past 150 years.

There are still days that I long for the quiet and seclusion of having no one around.  I miss the birds, and the fields, and the big old barn.

 I miss living in a piece of history.  Climbing the stairs each night that several generations climbed before me. Cooking in the kitchen where womenfolk of yesteryear used to prepare the meals for their family.

I miss trains, and dirt roads, and summer evenings on the front porch.

 I miss my garden.

I miss everything that once defined me.

 I especially miss my dishwasher.

Sometimes I have to remind myself of why we moved.  Why did we leave such a beautiful place that we loved?

Because it was temporary.  Because it was rented, and some day we would be outed from our roost, so they can knock down that beautiful place and put a resort on it.

 Because living in a different place meant a cheaper cost of living.  Because we are closer to Hubby’s place of work. Because we are closer to family.

I am not good with change. I am slow to adapt.  I become attached to things too easily. My mama says I’m too sentimental. But despite all my emotions over change there is something so profoundly beautiful about my new life here.

We own it. It is all ours.  I don’t have to worry that someone will suddenly decide I can’t have a dog.

  That kitchen is my kitchen, and I will make new memories in it.

The land here is sad and under worked, but we are starting to discover its secrets. Long forgotten raspberry bushes, the chipmunk that teases my chickens, the giant woodpecker that lives somewhere in the forest.  Things that make this place magical in its own forgotten way.

Lord willing, next spring the garden will be bursting with life, and once again I will feel at home. Life started in a garden – a home is not a home without one. Next spring there will be goat kids, and fresh milk.

Eggs, and new baby chicks to replace the ones we lost. Next spring it will all start again, and it will be good.

But for now, the world is quieting down.  Soon the days will be short. The air will smell like chimney smoke, and Hubby and I will end our evenings sitting in front of our a wood stove sipping tea.

 Some things do not change, no matter where you live. Somethings stick with you where ever you go. For that I am thankful.

That’s how you know you’re home.
And, of course there’s always the dishes.

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