So ... we spent the weekend down near Charlottesville for the Pace/Carter Family reunion. It's Mark's Mom's side of our family. It's the third year we've attended, and it's always a fabulous time. Usually we go down the day of and return that night, because we live so close. This year, though, we decided to go ahead and get a room, so we wouldn't be driving back in the middle of the night. It also gave us the opportunity to spend extra time with the family in a smaller setting at Aunt Fannie's. What an AWESOME treat that was for me.
Mark's family owns property down there, and they all have country settings. The boys were really excited about staying over, because it meant an extra day in the pool and a trip to see Uncle Dave's cows and barn. For me ..... it was like going home.
When I was a kid growing up, summer vacation always meant the excitement of another opportunity to be on Pensacola Beach. It also meant the trip to De Funiak Springs to see my Granny and Grampa. I was always my Grampa's girl, but, other than seeing him, there wasn't much about being at his house that was very appealing. Country living's finest, and it just wasn't my gig, especially when the beach was sooooo stinkin' close.
Sunday, though, as I walked down the little beaten dirt path, around the towering walnut trees toward the barn, I felt a sense of belonging and comfort that was too obvious to ignore. The smells were the same as being at Grampa's. A naturalness that doesn't exist in the city, with an undeniable air of hay and manure wafting on the breeze. Time seemed to slow down to a comfortable stride that I rarely ever use. And ..... all those things that seem so vital and important .... those things that overwork blood pressure and stress levels seemed far less urgent. The pressing issue of the day appeared to be the cows making it under the one shade tree standing in the field when the sun momentarily popped through the day's overcast skies. So many memories from being at Grampa's danced with me that day. The fig trees in the back yard, the enormous smelly sow in the barn, the long walk past the corn field to get to the fishing pond to have a peak and see if that crazy bull was still IN his pin. Great Great Grandma Lucy's house even gave me a clear reminder of sleeping at Grampa's on rainy, summer night's ... dancing with the Sandman to the beat of a million raindrops pinging away on the tin roof. The only things missing were a brown fedora, and the sweet smell of tobacco waiting just inside the front door.
I miss my Grampa, but Sunday made it ok.
Remembering W.T.,
Kalena in Country
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