“Home is a house filled with love, groomed with care,
and lived in with a mixture of laughter and tears.”
c. e. hollis
My home is a house, an old farmhouse, but well-loved. My home has seen hardship, excitement, grief, celebration, death, life, illness, health, depression, and exuberance––the sweets and sours of life’s experiences have happened here on the farm.We bought this place many years ago searching for a peaceful place away from traffic and crime. A safe haven it has become––the farm where grandkids love to visit and Gramdpa loves to work.
Many days of happiness have been lived out here on these eighty acres and in these rooms where books line shelves, wonderful smells of baking bread, grilling steaks, cakes cobblers, cookies, and other goodies have eminated from the kitchen, voices have bounced off the walls, laughter too and many a guest has been welcomed inside these doors.
Babies have been rocked here and laid down for naps. People have studied and learned here. Pets have been loved here.
Flowers usually adorn the table and the kitchen windowsill. Paintings by friends and relatives decorate the walls. Family pictures inhabit the refrigerator doors and the top of the piano.
Speaking of pianos, much music has been played in these rooms on stereos, computers, instruments, guitar, piano, harmonica, dulcimer. Songs are sung here. I sing while I work. I sing when I am alone. I sing with grandchildren. I sing when I’m happy, I’m afraid, I’m lonely, I’m praising, I’m sad. I sing. I love music. It is a big part of home.
The birds I feed lend their voices. Treefrogs sing. Cicadas shimmer and raise voices. Dogs bark. Cows low. Owls call from the creekbank. Children’s laughter rings, and when no one is here, the wind in the trees makes music in my world.