"Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to let you in."

-- Robert Frost

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Families

I've been thinking a lot about them lately.  Families.




Maybe it's because here at the end of summer mine is suddenly arguing enough to make me watch the calendar until school begins next week.  And here I was with romantic notions of soaking in each last glorious day.  Families have a way of keeping you real and making certain you don't miss them too much once they're gone.


Maybe it's because my oldest daughter has just returned from a pioneer handcart trek across Wyoming and felt the magnitude of what her third great grandparents on her father's side sacrificed for his family and ours, to be able to be who we are and believe as we do.   She stood where mothers buried their children, husbands gave their food portions to wives, and fingers and toes froze in the snow only to keep walking and pushing for a faith we'd one day be free to hold dear to our hearts. 


My "Little House on the Prairie" notions made me want to hop in her handcart while she danced her way into the sunset, pushing me all the way.  And thank heavens for bloomers in Wyoming winds.  That face returned less energetic and those bloomers, less white.



I think about walking last year, into that little bitty farm house of my own grandparents.  It still stood as they left it long after their passing.  Her biscuit making paraphernalia neatly hung on the kitchen wall.  Those curtains she zig zag stitched and hand hemmed at the window.  Laminated magazine clippings for her framed decor.  The handle on the dryer lint filter he fashioned from a coat hanger in his oh, so sensible make-do-or-do-without way.  Every aspect called, "You are the product of this." 





Families make us who we are.  I love, love, love what these people have made us and am forever grateful for who we have become.  Two great families and a hope in my heart to make mine just as they are.






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