I traveled the woods there.
I got stuck in the towering trees there.
I played make belief for hours on the arcs over stretching the ravines there.
I feared the quicksand there.
I found the best hiding places there.
I got stung day after day by the stinging nettles there, but not by the hidden wasp’s nests there.
My cousins weren’t quite so fortunate.
I bottle fed my baby Big Mac there, and lied on the kitchen floor crying at the headless chickens there.
I saw my first family of moles there, I caught a fish bowl’s worth of tadpoles there, I tried to nurse a broken winged baby bird there, and night after night I fell asleep to the songs of the croaking frogs there.
I went from an openly sugar-loving child to a secretly sugar-hoarding child there.
I said a final farewell to my beloved grandpa there; he still resides in the morning glories there.
I watched my dogs, Max and Molly, get married there. I watched my big, big brother say his vows there.
I said “I do” there.
The years passed. My siblings and I grew. In our stead, our boys and girls started finding the gardener snakes and frogs, the acres of hiding places, the make belief, the magic of the love and laughter that there holds. I wish mine had more time.
For nearly 30 years this was my home. It was my primary home, my second home, my home away from home. It was my safe place. Now, it is someone else’s.
Goodbye dear farm, the memory of you will always hold strong to our hearts.