Yesterday was errand day. Up at dawn, I ran through my list of very important things that needed to be done for the camping trip I’m leaving on today. And, not surprisingly, there were a couple of things I forgot. Mr. FixIt to the rescue! Yet another of the many wonderful advantages of dating this good man! He stopped on his way to my place and picked my items up at the market.

Driving back home on the two-lane blacktop, I always let my mind run through the points of note along the route. There’s the State Police barracks where I took (and failed) my first driving exam. (Not my fault, mind you…there was a hole in the muffler.) There’s the county line where I got carsick when I was seven. (I have no idea why that sticks with me, but it does.) There’s the last bridge of its kind between town and the farm. (It’s a lot like the old bridge that used to be where you turn onto the country lane to drive the last few miles to the house.) There’s the old country store where we stopped for ice cream on Sunday afternoons on our way back to town. There’s the turn where I had my wreck in February. My mind takes me through every turn and hill, reliving days long gone.

One of my favorite turns brings me to a straight stretch that passes the old Nutter Farm. There’s a family cemetery on the hill across the road. Every time I drive through that stretch, I get the strangest feeling. It’s akin to the feeling you get when someone hugs you. I didn’t get to meet the particular set of great-grandparents that are buried there, but somehow I feel them when I drive by. It’s a little eerie, but comforting at the same time. My great-grandfather died in his early 30’s of a ruptured appendix and left my great-grandmother with four little boys to raise. Charlie and Sabina. I have always loved her name. Folks called her “Binie”, with a long “i”. I never knew her proper name till after my last child was born or I might have named her Sabina Rose.

I know every turn, every pothole, every hill on that road. It stretches for miles all the way back as far as I can remember. I really get John Denver’s lyrics. “Country Roads, take me home to the place I belong…West Virginia!” I love coming home when I’ve been gone a while. When you’re there every day, you don’t notice how the house smells. But when you return from a long trip, it’s truly like stepping back in time to my childhood. It smells like old wood…damp and rich. It smells like old books and worn leather…slightly stale, dusty, and tired. It smells like iron skillets and well water. But it smells like family. It smells like home. I bought a scented candle when I first moved in last year and was decidedly dismayed when all you could smell when you walked in the back door was cinnamon apples. I stopped burning it right away and was ever so relieved when the familiar aromas returned a week or two later.

I count every day here as a blessing…a gift that God has brought me. This place almost seems like my reward for having lost my sweet husband. As though God said, “You’ve suffered enough. Let the memories in these walls comfort you for a time.” I know it’s not forever…one day the house will pass from one to another and I’ll need to move on. Or, more likely, there will be that point in my life when I choose to live elsewhere. But for now…for this brief time…I will live and love and laugh in the home of my heart. And I’ll remember every nook and cranny, every squeak in the floor, every line in the worn linoleum. I’ll remember every bend in the road. ❤️

“My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭32:18‬ ‭NIV‬‬