It’s been a little over a year now since my parents made the trip into Welby’s office and returned with our latest adventure in tow (a house and a pond and some farmland).
An entire year.
The transition from living on the dairy to the house up the road has had it’s challenges. I moved frantically before I rushed off on a British Isles Adventure . The furniture moved in my absence (thanks mostly to the men my sisters have added to our family 🙂 ).
But it’s taken a little bit longer to get my heart to move from Paradise Lane. Don’t misunderstand- We watched in amazement as God carefully ordained every detail of this event. And I’m so thankful to have a sister and a bro-in-law to move onto our family farm. It’s a gift to watch Paradise Lane love them as well as it loved me. It’s change, and change is hard.
But the honest confession is- I’m falling for our new hometown. We live just a mile outside of Singers Glen, a picturesque, sleepy town, chock full of history.
After a year of hurrying down Main Street, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve now witnessed, twice, the early spring purple carpet lawn, in front of the one house. I’ve learned how handy it is to have a basic general store so close by (I ran out of flour while making a yeast dough, of all calamities… Grandles Glen View Store to the rescue) I recognize the lady who sweeps the sidewalks every afternoon. I chat with the lady at the post office. I plan to support the Tenderloin Supper that happens six times a year in the Community Building, every time I get a chance. I’ve learned to respect the 25 mph speed limit that is enforced with Barney Fife fervor.
Yes, I’m not sure when it happened, but I’ve fallen head over heels for our new hometown.
There’s one place in particular, that has me mesmerized. It’s an old deserted homestead, that stands right outside of town.
A stubble of ivy grows untended across it’s once clean shaven stone face. It doesn’t matter what hour I come past, It watches my journey with vacant eyes.
And somehow, when I’m out of things to imagine, I find myself thinking about the original family who cleared the land and hauled the rocks and who gave the place life. I wonder if they were contemporaries of the Joseph Funk who’s music changed our towns name from “Mountain Valley” to “Singers Glen” . I imagine light and laughter and warmth and energy streaming out of those boarded windows. I wonder why someone’s old homeplace stands empty. It responds to my pondering with the ultimate sound of silence.
This spring, little bits of sunshine entered my musings. Daffodils popped up all over place. And I considered who placed them there. I imagined that it was the lady of the house. I wondered what storms were being battled in her world/ in her soul, while she faithfully tended her flowerbeds, planting bushels of bulbs
And I question if there is anything that I’m doing today, that will create some sunshine for a random stranger down the way.
There’s no way to know.
May I be inspired to be faithful, regardless.
We’ve all coped with the move a little differently. I’m not really sure if it’s a mid life crisis or what it can be accused of – by SOMEONE (who shall remain nameless) has started a new hobby with their free time. It so happens that my email is easy to remember- so my inbox is becoming full of necessary accessory purchases. The new motto is #borntoride . I’ll let you guess who the new cowboy is 🙂 Let the warm weather fun begin 🙂 And thus begins the “boys only” bike ride around the block.