I spent some time yesterday at some land that’s been in the family for a while. We affectionately call it The Farm, although it hasn’t really been used for farming in a very long time.
Still, for me it brings back so many memories. I remember coming there every summer as a child and playing with my sister and cousin. That was back when I was sure I’d find a secret cave or a buried Confederate treasure. I never did, but the memories I have of those days are much more valuable than any old coins I could have found.
More than anything, I’m haunted by the memory of people who I miss. I still expect to see them there, like they’re as much a part of the place as the old buildings and trees.
I expect to see my uncle ambling down the road, wondering what funny story he had for me. Or my other uncle coming down the gravel driveway in his Ford Bronco. Or maybe my grandmother sitting on the porch, smiling and singing an old hymn. I’d give anything to be able to go outside in the middle of the night with my cousin and do nothing but look up at the sky lit up with stars.
I especially miss when the whole family would get together once a year for a family reunion and the food would taste better and the conversations would be sweeter on that day than any other.
Every blade of grass holds a memory and every leaf is a reminder of days passed. I can pass through those gates and feel exactly like I did when I was 10 years old and still obsessed with old coins and baseball cards.
I think C.S. Lewis was the one who said that a pleasure is not fully consummated until it is remembered. It’s too bad I couldn’t fully appreciate those days and the people for what they were– a gift. But I have memories now that make me smile. And that’s enough.
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