Where the Pines Grow

When I’m here I remember what peace actually feels like: leaves falling, long, winding, dirt roads, and a stillness that speaks to my heart.

dirt and dust

This is the part of my life I willfully hide yet am trapped inside. Still working on that book; there’s so many twists and turns I’m half afraid a publisher may encourage me to separate it into two. But what a problem to have, right?

aptly named the white house

My childhood home – now reduced to overgrowth and rotting wood. When I look at this photo, I think of the movie Titanic. In many scenes, they show a type of flashback where the beautiful, newly painted stair case transforms into the vision of what the researchers found at the bottom of the sea. My mind’s eye paints a picture of a home with children inside and a grandfather clock chiming. Memories, the most nostalgic.

I don’t recognize any of the vehicles that pass me while out walking, but I feel my heart beating and know I belong. Still.

miles of roads

Passed down from my grandfather, a gift I hope will always keep on giving. I’ve renamed this land Kel’s Corner though family will know it always as Uncle Pete’s Place. I am blessed beyond measure to own this little slice of my past.

heaven on earth

Speaking of slices, my great Aunt Mary Catherine’s blueberry pie is legendary. Although I have the recipe, there’s no comparison. Nothing will ever be like hers. If I could have one wish, it would be to epitomize a fraction of the woman, baker, mother, friend, and God-loving aunt she is to me.

As for that pie? No, I didn’t share.

______________

I ask you –

Did you grow up in the city or country?

Do you revisit your childhood home? (provided you don’t currently live in it)

Fun fact: I once won a contest with a story I had written about my Aunt MC. She tells me she still has it.

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