Wednesday, September 12, 2012


We pulled into 349 Middle St like we have hundreds, probably thousands, of times before. My dad driving, me along for the ride. This time my 2 boys were in the back seat and we knew no one was home. My Nana was born in this home over 95 years ago. She raised her family here as well  - history oozes from it's walls.

The boys set out toys in the driveway while Dad and I started snipping away at the shrubs. My mind drifted to the days of the big red glider, birthday celebrations on the patio, and exploring in the back yard. I remembered picking lettuce with my grandpa and gathering roses with Nana. My Dad must have been remembering too. Soon the quiet rythm of snipping was broken by stories of digging holes with his Dad and of just how small those tall pines were when they planted them.

The house, the stories, the memories....the fact that the 5th generation of us played in the same spot as generations was weeks ago, but the feeling remains lodged in my chest. Although I can't find the right name or description for how it feels, I like it.

1 comment:

kdk said...

Oh, the swing and the veggie garden! Don't forget playing cards on the screened-in porch :)