So, Mom and Dad are in Tennessee for 6 weeks on their farm. They live here in Texas. If I were to go dig around in my storage I’d find stories I wrote when I was 18. I remember one in particular. I was in their rv they have on their farm. I was there all by myself. It was probably during summer between college semesters. We’ve never lived on our farm, but we bought it in 1974 while I was in High School. It started off just like the bit of land you see me writing about 49 years later. I’ve watched my parents improve their land year by year as their favorite pet hobby for most of my life. Their farm is so beautiful today there’s no imagining it. They called when they got there and my dad’s voice was as excited as a little boy’s. I called him Daniel Boone the day I followed behind him as he explored it for the first time five decades ago. After they sold my grandparent’s farm in Oklahoma ten years ago after I had grown up visiting from childhood I backed away from the Tennessee farm. I haven’t been there in a decade. It was too painful losing the Oklahoma farm which I assumed they’d give to me simply because I loved it more than anyone else. Nope. So I protected my heart and bought my own “farm.” You see the fun of dreaming and fixing it up. No one can sell MINE. I gave mine to my granddaughter to pass that sense of owning land on down our family line as far as I could reach. My story in storage is about the day I woke up, alone, in the Tennessee rv, to the sound of distant chainsaws. I jumped up in alarm and anger, jerked on my jeans, tied my tennis shoes, and headed across our fields and into our woods. I, alone, with fire in my eyes, confronted two or more big burly men with, “You are on OUR land and you are cutting OUR walnut trees.” I made them stop and leave. Then I went back to the rv. I think of that now and then. There is something about owning your own land that is precious. xo
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Written July 14, 2023 at 9:56 am