Homesick

The Old Homestead

painted by BB from the photo below

See the log cabin?  That is the original home my ancestors lived in

at Hailstorm Creek.  It is a real place, but it's not called that anymore.

These are my people.

~

Most of them passed before I knew them, but I lived and grew up

on this farm until I went off into the world.

My father kept the door locked to this place for a long time after his

mama passed.  Eventually someone in my family became acutely aware

of all the antiques inside and decided to "rescue" them.  After that,

the door was not kept so locked and the building just eventually

began to rot.  There's nothing left of it now, but a heap in the ground.

~

Long before it rotted, I used to play there, and wander around inside the house

and imagine what it was like to live there. 

 The rooms were very small, but it seemed cozy. 

~

Today, I looked at this picture and I wanted to be there again,

walking the grounds, smelling the lilacs and hydrangea and the

earthy smells of the walnuts rotting on the ground. 

I wanted to touch the rotting logs and smell the decay of cloth and rust.

~

I want to wander the days of my childhood,

and walk where my ancestors walked.  I want to talk to their

ghosts at their gravestones, and step my feet into their church again.

~

I am homesick.