A Certain Place

I have written before of my ideas of "home" and just what the term means in my eyes, but I found it necessary to record some joys of a certain place while they are fresh in my mind, lest the darkness attempt to erase them the moment this place is out of sight. If you have read my blog, or know me even a little, then you know that my family has moved frequently and there are few "solid" places to which I may return and belong. My grandparents' house is one of these, for they've lived there since long before I was born. No matter where we moved or how far we traveled, we always returned there. One might refer to it as an island in a storm. It has undergone changes and renovations, but even these grow familiar quickly, and the memory of the old is one of the joys I spoke of. Now though my grandparents are the main reason this place holds such value, I want to write now about the physical parts that strike such peace in my mind, though without the history of the people around them they would only be objects. But without these objects the memories and joys would have far fewer places to live.

The house is located in the South where it is mild part of the year, warm for another, and hot the rest. To the back of the house is a nature reserve, full of trees and deer and birds. To the front the road goes by, and across that is a small lake, with a dock and a diving board that I was loathe to jump off when I was smaller, and served as a place to sit and think and watch the sun set when I was older. On one side of the house the driveway curves down steeply before the ground grows even steeper, this is the dry side of the dam that turns the small lake into a stream. On the other side are two more plots of land, filled with a small field, a "new" barn, and gardens. Granddaddy grows corn, beans, tomatoes, blueberries, muscadines, and scuppernongs, and many other things. It is a peaceful place, far from the main road, and the silence is so refreshing. Just today I sat down by the barn and basked in the sunshine, very much feeling the blessing that being in the South in February is. But on to the particulars.

Outside. There is a grate on the driveway that clangs with a very distinct sound whenever a car drives over it. If you happen to be in the car, it means you've arrived, and should you be in the house, it alerts you that whoever you've been waiting on is finally here. The siding on the house used to be red. It's been gray now (intentionally, not due to weathering) for years and years now, but I still remember that old red siding. I think it was wood that had been painted, but I'm not sure. It's vinyl now. The house is two stories, so there were two patios. The lower one has since been turned into a beautiful sunroom. Before that it held many odds and ends and old flower pots. The main thing I remember was that there was an old church pew that served as a bench. It was all black (no cushions) and was of that old, severe style. Young me liked it, for whatever reason. I don't know where it is now. At the parking area behind the house there are flower beds that are usually filled with petunias, and a few stone steps leading up to the level of the backdoor. There's a large holly bush right beside them that continuously grows larger and has to be pruned back, lest people mounting the stairs feel claustrophobic. In the grass there is a clothesline that now supports bird feeders rather than sheets, and one post is topped by a large bell that Mimi used to ring to call Granddaddy to supper if he was out in the garden. We loved to ring it when we were kids, and were tall enough to reach the handle. There are trees too, magnolia, maple, pine, and many more. There's a weeping cherry tree with a very romantic feel about it, and a giant evergreen that once, long ago, was a tiny christmas tree in the house it now towers over. I should say towered, I think it's been cut down. The little maple by the field is gone too, only the stump remains.

Inside. As I said, the sunroom has been added. The kitchen was renovated a long time ago. The den and at least two bedrooms been redone. New couches occupy the living room. But the carpet upstairs is still pink (fuscia? magenta?). The valances that matched the old couches still cover the windows. The old, no, ancient piano that used to sit in the den is long gone, but the stone fireplace is still there. Bookcases stand in the dark little back hall. The stairs creak in the voices of old friends no matter how silent one tries to be. The little statuettes sit in the windowed niches on either side of the front door. And the closet door in my dad's old room still turns the light on itself when open, and turns it off when it closes with a very audible click. That closet used to hold my mom's wedding dress, and still holds the puzzles and blocks we played with years ago. And the art! Those framed images on the walls; they are what seem to strike me the most. Painted portraits of my dad and my aunts hang in the living room. On one stairwell wall hangs an embroidery listing the names of God. El Shaddai, El Elyon, El Roi, Jehovah Jireh, Yahweh, Adonai, and so on. Downstairs there is a faded image of a young girl with a scythe in her hand, a pencil drawing of two racehorses in the final stretch, a quiet picture of a cabin by a lake and geese flying past the sun.

There's more! There are so many little things! The rug in the dining room, the glass-topped side-table with the candle sticks atop it (it is a miracle that it survived to see all five grandchildren reach adulthood), the shape of the stones that form the front walk, the daffodils that line the driveway... All these things bring me such joy.