I got a little bit of a late start yesterday. I realized I didn’t really have anything at the farm for breakfast and I didn’t want to eat a hamburger and cottage cheese that early. So, I hopped in the truck for the short drive east. About seven miles away is a gas station/diner/tire center/convenience store. It’s saved my butt many a time when I ran out of something basic, but you wouldn’t want to actually “buy groceries” there as it’s spendy. Initially I thought I’d buy a box of cereal, or maybe some eggs, but as I got closer, I decided to go to the next biggest town where they have a real grocery store. Mr. FixIt agreed to come out and stay at the farm later, so I wanted to have real food.

The two-lane to town…well, pretty much ANY two-lane blacktop in West Virginia…is twisty and turny as it climbs up and over the hills. And, this particular road goes right by the cemetery where my family is buried. I waved on my way past and called out the open window, “I’ll stop on the way back!” I love a country grocery store. You see things you might not find in a big city. And there are definitely colloquial items you can’t find anywhere else. Mr. Virgo LOVED scrapple. If you don’t know what that is, let me tell you…you either love it or you loathe it. I happen to be in the second category but, ohhhhh…that man did love scrapple. 

When I asked Siri to tell me what scrapple was she led me to this definition:

“Scrapple – American pork offal mush. Scrapple, also known by the Pennsylvania Dutch name Pannhaas or “pan rabbit”, is traditionally a mush of pork scraps and trimmings combined with cornmeal and wheat flour, often buckwheat flour, and spices. (Sounds yummy!) The mush (ugh…can you say onomatopoeia?) is formed into a semi-solid congealed (it just keeps getting better and better, right?) loaf and slices of the scrapple are then pan-fried before serving. Scraps of meat left over from butchering, not used or sold elsewhere, were made into scrapple to avoid waste.”

Just an FYI…The definition of offal: “the entrails and internal organs of an animal used as food. Refuse or waste material. Decomposing animal flesh.” 

Yeahhhhh….NOPE! Not this girl! However…you do weird things for handsome men and frying this stuff up in my good pans was one of those things I did for that South Philly boy. This was a very long way of saying…they sell scrapple in Tiny Town, USA. I reached for the mush instead. A tasty alternative made from cornmeal, water, salt, sugar, butter, and maybe some bits of crispy bacon added. Essentially it’s the same as polenta, but you slice it and fry it and serve it with syrup drizzled over it. Yummmmm….and no leftover pig innards!

I finished my shopping and on a whim, stopped at Berdine’s Five and Dime for a small bag of their chocolate covered peanuts. They are SO divine! Then, I drove to the cemetery. I had to park down at the main road because the last time I went in there when it was wet, I nearly slid off the road and down the hill onto a row of headstones. The day was crisp, the sun was shining, and a slight breeze blew my too long bangs away from my face.

When I got to Grandma’s grave, I knelt down and started talking to her about the farm. I told her it was being sold and how terribly sad I was. I told her if I was younger, I’d buy it myself, but there are so many things wrong with it, it would just turn into a money pit. I apologized, and…much to my surprise, I burst into tears. Snotty, can’t-catch-your-breath, sad-country-song tears. I felt horrible…like I was abandoning my grandma herself. 

When I finally regained my composure, I got up and moved over to Mom’s headstone. It’s low and slightly inclined, but high enough to sit on. I talked to them…these wonderful people who made me and raised me and taught me right from wrong.

“Just tell me what you want me to do! If you want me to buy the farm, well…I’ll find a way to make it work. If you don’t, then tell me how to walk away from this. It’s breaking my heart!”

I sat very still and listened to the wind in the trees around me, the birds calling from the woods, the bees buzzing around some flowers on a nearby grave.

Suddenly…my heart got very light…like a weight had been lifted off me. And, I could almost hear my grandma’s voice.

“The gift is not in the farm, pet. The gift is in the STORY.”

That’s it! That’s the golden nugget…the prize…the revelation! I can walk away. Because “The Farm” has given me everything it can, don’t you see? I walked back to the truck singing…

“Farther along, we’ll know all about it. Farther along, we’ll understand why? Cheer up, my brother…live in the sunshine. We’ll understand it, all by and by.”

When I got back, I put away the groceries and straightened up the living room. I knew my sweetheart would be here later in the evening and he’d want to watch TV, so I hooked it back up for him. I turned it on to make sure I had it connected correctly and the Drew Barrymore Show was on. Drew was getting a tattoo right there on the show. When they asked what she was having done, she said, “It’s a phrase I’ve been saying to myself a lot the last year.”

‘Home is where you are.’

Isn’t that the truth?

?

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.”

Proverbs 3:5-6 ESV