“I would sit here every night,” she said. “We counted stars and watched the fireflies.”
She rested on the front stoop, finding comfort in the stair. Anyone else would’ve felt the rough edges and hard surface, but she settled into the concrete as though it were a plush sofa. In that one seat, she found years and years of memories padding the air. Transporting her back. Waltzing through the years.
She left the home place over forty years ago, but to her it is still home. A few buildings were new, of course. A farm has to change as crops and technology require. But the front porch was the same. Well, not quite. It was bigger now. Less of a stoop and more of a porch. But the house … the yard…the view…the memories….nothing had really changed. It was all still there.
For a brief instant, she was transported back to when she was ten. Chasing fireflies, counting stars. Her eyes grew distant. She reveled in the moment. And then it was over.
She isn’t ten anymore, this isn’t her home anymore, her Daddy isn’t out back in the tobacco barn anymore.
But its still home.
And on this sunny (and hot!) March afternoon, Grandma took her daughter and her granddaughter on a walk down memory lane. Remembering. Telling. Laughing. Loving.