~ Robert Frost
February 10, 2002
Welcome to Wyndspirit Dreams! I went out to the farm today, for the first time in a couple weeks. And it is always "the farm," never "Mom and Dad's." I think it's a psychological way of saying that it still belongs to all of us even though Mom and Dad are the only ones actually living there. In other words, it's home. Never mind that each one of us owns our own house, the farm is still our home.
It's been a rough week, and I almost talked myself out of going because I was so tired and stressed out, but I went anyway, and I'm glad of it. The stress and exhaustion began to melt away as soon as I pointed my car towards the highway, and any remaining cares dropped away when I drove into the yard.
I discussed current events and the farm animals with Dad, and books and crafts with Mom, but the conversation was almost incidental to just being there. Sometimes I visited, sometimes I crocheted, sometimes I just sat, absorbing the peace and security of being home, the comforting ordinariness of the life I grew up with.
The farm has changed considerably since I lived there. My beloved bedroom became my sister's, and then the guest room. The only signs of my residence are the walls I painted marigold yellow and a small built-in bookcase that Mom built and I stained. The sapling I used to look down upon from the window is now taller than the house. There has been a complete new kitchen added on, and the old kitchen is now a dining room. The entire house has been painted since I left home. Many of the trees in the shelterbelt where we used to play have died out and been used for firewood, so even that no longer looks the same. Outbuildings have fallen down or been put to other uses.
But it's still home. My married sisters bring their children out to the farm and turn them loose to run and play the way we did, then settle at the kitchen table to visit or do crafts, or even slip off for a nap--luxuries they don't have in their busy daily lives. My youngest sister comes out to the farm and sleeps late, plays loud music, and digs through her old toys--shedding the responsibilities of adulthood and reverting to her teenage years for a short while. I also come to escape. At the farm, I have only what I choose to bring with me. I bring my crocheting or embroidery, my journal, and the book I'm reading. I am not surrounded by bills that need to be paid, appointments that need to be set up, windows that need to be washed, countless projects that need to be completed.
Of course we always
end up returning to the real world, but we come back refreshed. Somehow
it makes us a little stronger, a little better able to face our adult responsibilities,
when we can briefly become children again.