The Homestead

You inherit a lot of things from your family.  I inherited a love of books and words from both my parents, who were avid and eclectic readers.  Which meant that although I was as active as most children of the time, I could be found curled up with a book more often than not.  I also come from a long line of great cooks, so I inherited a love of food.  Unfortunately, along with that, I inherited, from both grandmothers, an efficient body that didn't waste a bit of that food.  The result was a tendency from early on to put on weight.

My mother was beginning to become concerned but didn't want to put much emphasis on it.  She recognized that time would take care of most of the problem if it wasn't allowed to get out of control.  What I needed was an incentive to be more active.  So, I spent a summer playing softball at the local park.  I played catcher, first base, outfield and the bench.  A couple of problems.  One, I'm not terrifically coordinated or athletic.  Two, I wore incredibly thick glasses that tended to create curves that distorted the trajectory of a ball.  Therefore, my glove was never in the right place for a catch.  End of softball career.

My dad, seeking to satisfy both his wife and daughter decided to take matters into his own hands.   He began asking casually if I would like to take a hike to this spot or that in the surrounding knobs(foothills of the Applachians).  We would drive out into the knobs, park and take off into the trees.  In this manner I spent wonderful hours learning about the knobs, woods, trees, wildlife and woodland plants, as well as, toning up a lot of my baby fat.  An easy teacher with a deep love of the hills he would point out how to identify trees, plants, tracks and animal habitats as we hiked.  All of this was done in the deep solitude and peace of the quiet woods, far from other people.

However, one day I found that we weren't the first people to enjoy these woods.  We had been climbing up to a ridge for some time when we came across an old road bed.  This wasn't all that unusual since people had been living in the area for a couple of hundred years.  The road bed was little more than a path but reasonably clear of large trees so we followed it along the ridge top.  We found ourselves entering into a small clearing in the woods.  There nestled back in a small orchard of apple, peach, and cherry trees stood a small cabin.  The porch was falling in and grape vines and brambles grew over the railings, but it was mostly intact. The yard was over grown with occasional flowering plants struggling to survive.  It had obviously been abandoned for some years.  Hoping to find some tin cans or other trash to use for targets (we never hiked without rifles, mostly for target shooting) we wandered over to the door.  After checking for soundness we entered the front of the little house. 

To our amazement it looked like the occupants had just gotten up from breakfast and left.  Placed around the interior were the remnants of a bed, chairs, shelves and  a table.  The table still had a few dishes on it, clothes and bedclothes were laying in tatters, where animals had nested.  The windows had strings of material where curtains had hung.  The shelves still held a few jars of fruit, probably canned from the trees outside. While weather and inquisitive animals had destroyed much of the belongings there was still enough left to see the life they had lived. 

We pondered over time wondering what had happened to the people from the little cabin. The clearing showed signs of care and hope for the future (fruit trees aren't a short term dream) and the home, with it's roses gone wild, spoke of permanence.  The question was, what could make them leave so suddenly? Why had they never returned?  Had they taken ill or just given up?

We continued to visit the little homestead over the next few years, enjoying the peace and the little orchard, someone had lovingly planted.  Hiking up one day we noticed that the old road showed signs of recent use.  We walked on following the tracks right into the clearing.  The tracks led around the house to the back.  There, behind the fruit trees, was a small family cemetery we had noticed before.  Continuing to follow the tracks we found a new grave in the little grouping of markers. 

Whoever had built and loved the little homestead had come home again.