Funny how the mind and heart work, isn't it?

Part of Mom's estate was the .9 acre of land that Great-Grandma Cattell left her at The Farm on Beloit-Snodes Road.  She was very proud of that piece of land, and she often mentioned that she would like to build a house there someday.  Dad didn't share that desire, so the property stood vacant. She was also proud of the tiny check she received from the gas well that was on the main property with a portion under her land.  No one could get rich on that check; in fact, if she had kept every check she had received over the years, she probably could not have taken us all to dinner.  (Not that she would ever do that anyway!)

In the nearly six months since Mom's death we have experienced many moments while cleaning out the house, going through the auction itself, tying up loose ends, looking at pictures, and finding places in our own homes for pieces of furniture that we treasured or a piece of china or a set of salt and pepper shakers that hold special memories.  

Selling the house was not hard.  Leaving the house the last time in September was easy.  In fact, I didn't even realize that it was the 'last time' until we nearly to Niagara Falls.  I knew I was ready to leave it all behind because after going to the Wayne County Fair the second day, talking with Ryan and Melanie, signing some papers at the lawyer's office, picking up papers at the real estate office, it just seemed like I had no place in Wooster anymore.  I was ready to leave and be done.  No reason to return, except to visit the graves. No tears.  A little bit of sadness.  But a sense of relief that the necessary trips were over.

Then last week there was an interest in the property at The Farm.  We stated our asking price.  He counter offered.  We countered again.  He accepted the offer.  Draw up the papers to sign and turn over the deed and it will be done.

And that bothered me.  

Why? 

I don't really know, except that it is a piece of Grandma and happier times that are really now over.  There was a connection to Beloit, to Westville, to West Branch, to the relatives there because we owned that .9 acre of land at the Cattell/Ritchie farm.  

And now it is sold.

I have stood in the hall in our house, looking at the saw that Dad painted of Spring Meadows Farm.  Memories come flooding back. I remember staying overnight at Grandma's house.  She taught me to bake pies.  She taught me to sew on the treadle sewing machine.  She let me drive her car before I had a license.  I stayed with her several summers after we moved to Mt. Vernon.  I looked forward to Thanksgiving at her house and seeing the Christmas tree in the fireplace room.  I enjoyed the fire in the fireplace, eating popcorn, and drinking Boston Coolers.  I spent hours sitting in the lawn chair under the willow trees on the circle, reading and reading and reading.  When I talked to Kathy Stanley Murphy about possibly listing the property, we recalled walking to Purity Dairy and asking Ginny Fryfogle to scoop ice cream on the cones for us, then we walked back to Grandma's along the road. I remember going to church on Sunday mornings, and on Sunday evenings.  We used to drive up to Alliance and spend time at Silver Park or drive into Beloit and visit Uncle Dean and Aunt Joretta and Sherry.  We went to the Community Center in Damascus for picnics. Greta and Sherry and i used to build forts with clothesline and blankets between the cherry trees on the south lawn or spend hours in the hay mow, climbing the bales and jumping into the soft straw and sneaking into the granary to weigh ourselves on the old stand up scales.

But as Gary reminded me, the scene Dad painted on the saw was the memory.  It didn't look like that now  The house doesn't look the same; the barn is the only outbuilding still standing.  The willow trees are gone as are the cherry trees.  The Spring Meadows Farm sign that used to hang in front of the house, then had a new home on the side of Dad's little barn, is now leaning against our front porch railing.  I haven't been inside the house since Grandma left it, but I imagine it doesn't look like it did then.  

What I have are memories. Those will stay with me forever, and I can't go back and re-live them.  Why would I really want to? I wouldn't have Gary and the girls and the grandchildren if I did. I wouldn't have had a successful teaching career if I went back in time.  I wouldn't be able to travel and enjoy reading and quilting and lunches with my friends.

Maybe it is because Thanksgiving is coming.  Maybe it is because Greta and Kent will be here and I keep thinking about old traditions and trying to recreate some of them.  Maybe it is just because it is the one last piece of family history that will have the loose end tied up and the estate closed.

Time to move on.