Follow the creek bank

She couldn’t believe she was back here again, after all this time. She had been back a few times for a couple of visit after her world had been destroyed in threes. God how she hated that number and it’s power over death. Why did it have to happen in threes? And to her all at once? Why did have to happen when her life was starting to turn out just the way she planed. That damn power of three had destroyed her life in one swift blow. So she did what she always done to escape the harsh realities, she ran.



She had ran away from the deep southern Ohio valley. She ran away from the memories, the heartbreak and heartache. She had fought long and hard to break the connection to escape it all. She fought hard to put her life back on track once again. Yet here she was being drawn back to this place like a magnet. She was being pulled like Scarlett O’Hara was pulled back to the red clay of Tara to gain strength and purpose in her life once again.



Only she wasn’t being drawn back to the red clay of Tara, no she was being drawn back to her own person Tara. The old two story farm house, nestled in the Ohio valley that used to be her home, her pillar of strength, her strength to heal.



She needed the rolling hillsides covered with timber, the furrow fields of corn, wheat and soybeans. The sprawling pastures littered with livestock and hay bales. The board and barb-wired fences that dotted the road side. The vast openness of the country life, and friendliness of small town living. The thirty mile drive to the big shopping centers.



She had thought it was a good idea to come back here again, so she could finally close that horrible chapter of her life. Maybe she was wrong to come back here again. This place was too full of memories, of a perfect happy life that she had loved with her whole heart. This place wouldn’t offer her the closure she needed, but it would leave the door standing wide open. No she hadn’t been wrong, in come back here again. She needed this place, she needed the strength it always provided her.



She sat there on the tail gate, sipping her large to-go cup of coffee, staring at the house that had once been her childhood home. She still wasn’t ready to go inside and face the memories just yet so she sat there quietly studying the house.



The large two story farm house, that had always seemed like a mansion in her eyes growing up, was in major need of repairs. The white washed paint had chipped even worse over the years, showing off the aged old gray boards that held the house together. The broken spouting still hadn’t been repaired in the last, she wasn’t for sure how long the spouting had been broken off of the house. It was somewhere in the vicinity of either before the birth of her first daughter or slightly there after she thought. The shrubs needed trimmed down, and the one weeds that she never could remember the names of needed to be cut away from the house, the grass needed mowed and the weeds cut away from the tree stumps, the flower beds needed cleaned out. The one bedroom up stairs window still needed fixed, where the tree fell through the window years ago, the whole in the wall where the hornets had once built their nest was still patched up with a piece of wood, the front door that led to the living room still needed the wooden entry way fixed where it had cracked and broken due to the elements. The side walks needed edged, and the garaged still needed a new door put on, and cleaned out. She would even lay money on the fact that the cellar door still hadn’t been replaced yet either. There was nothing that couldn’t use a coat of paint and some elbow grease on the outside, but it was all just minimal work in her eyes, some of the jobs she actually looked forward too, and others she wasn’t looking forward too at all.



Once again she cursed her father under her breath for letting the place get so run down. But then she couldn’t really blame him for letting it, get this way either, he had enough on his plate to deal with besides making sure the house remained the same as the one they both had grown up in. There were times when she thought her father never really appreciated the value of the old house, and maybe he didn’t see the historical significance the house held either. Seven generations had lived in that house. Well at least six of them, she couldn’t really count her kids growing up in this particular house. Well her oldest daughter had lived the first year of her life in that house, but none of the others had. The twins didn’t even know about the house. And to her son it was just a house they came and visited every once in a while. But to her it was her home, the only home she ever knew, and she had lived in quite a few house over the years, but none of them were home, not even her parents house. This place would always represent home in her eyes.



She still wasn’t ready to walk inside, but she didn’t have to walk inside the house to know what she would find. Nothing had changed, and then everything had changed. The house itself had remained steadfast through out the years of her life, constantly following her. It still had the ugly red carpet spread through out the living room, dinning room, and up the stairs. The faded tea rose carpet in the bathroom. The scratched and weathered linoleum in the kitchen. The hard wood floors in the down stairs bedroom with the different area rugs through out. No nothing had changed and yet everything had changed in a course of a year.



She still sat there drinking her coffee, as she glanced at her watch. The moving van would be here shortly with all her furnishing and household belongings. Even though the old farm house was still completely furnished she could leave behind her things. Well that was what her dad’s garage was going to be used for temporary, she just had to go inside and get the key.



Taking a deep breath she hopped down off the tail gate and walked up to the back door. Never in her life had she seen a house with a total of five door ways. She unlocked the door, and walked inside. The smell of must and bug spray filled her nose as soon as she walked in the back porch. It was still musty from being closed up for a whole year. The wicker baskets of different sizes and shapes still hung on their hooks from the roof. The deep freeze, and old side by side fridge still sat blocking the door way to the backroom. The door to the kitchen still stuck in the hot weather to where she had to use her bum to knock it open. She didn’t walk any father then the door way for right now, as she reached up and grabbed the keys that hung on the little nail by the door. She still wasn’t ready yet to walk through the house to see what needed done to the inside. Maybe after the moving van left…..

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Two hours after the moving van had showed up and all her worldly possessions were put in her father’s garage she drew a deep breath and walked back into the house. The smell of the house being closed up for a year was still fresh, what the house needed was a good airing out. One she really didn’t have time for today, but she could let it air for a couple of hours at least until she had to pick up the kids. She quickly opened the front door and raised the screen so the fresh spring air could float in the house.

She looked around the kitchen, making a mental note of what was going to be needed done in there. She had plans for this old house, that she had crafted up many years ago as a child. But they were just dreams of the possibility of ever getting the house. She never in her life thought she would have a chance at having her childhood home, but once again her grandmother had surprised her.

She walked over to the big picture glass window and opened the drapes letting in the sunlight as she turned and looked at the kitchen. The new kitchen table still sat in the middle of the floor on the area rug with it’s different hues of blues and pinks, and creams. The vase of artificial flowers still sat in the middle of the table, the silver serving tray still sat in the vacant seat that was hardly ever used but on holidays. She stared at the stove that sat behind the table, they just didn’t make stove like it anymore. The burners folded back into the stove and out sight making it look just like one big hunk of metal with a oven on side and a broiler on the other. It still held the crockery up on top, and the old brass measuring cups and still hung on the wall over the microwave that still sat on the metal cabinet that still held pot holders, hot plates, knives and a few of the cooking utensils that she could never remember her grandmother using, except for three of the knives. The new fridge still sat in the little cubby hole, with the vases and pitchers still on the shelves above them. God how she use to hate those shelves she would have to sit on the fridge to get a vase down for her grandmother because there was no other way to reach them. There were still covered in dust and cobwebs just like they always were. The family pictures still hung on the wall beside the fridge just as they had for as long as she could remember. A few of the smaller ones had changed over the years, but the larger then life one still remained. The picture of her grandmother, her father’s senior year picture, her senior year picture, a picture of her brother and a picture of her baby sister were now in one strait line down the wall. The old over the hills picture still hung above them all. The white painted batwing saloon doors where still folded back into the living room. The glass cheerio shelf with all her grandmother’s little glass figurines still hung over the red two drawl filing cabinet that still held the scanner, the tissues and the paper work that she was going to have to through at some point. The one little cabinet that use to hang under the cheerio shelve was now behind the door after it fell, she wondered briefly if there was any flower and sugar and baggies and other storage items left in that cabinet, but she wasn’t going to look. The picture of her brother and sister still hung on the wall. The counter was still littered with newspapers, diary’s and phonebooks, the folding barstool still sat under the counter. The little thirteen inch TV still sat in the corner by the cabinet that held the plastic red and tea rose plates, along with the multicolored glassware plates and a few of the red glass mini organ juice glasses. She noticed that the red dish mat was still in the proper spot in front of the red toaster, and old milk jug full of cooking utensils. The black and gold mirror still hung over the back of the double sink with it’s red wash basin, and red dish drainer. The cabinet underneath the sink would be full of bleach, comet, and other cleaning supplies plus the milk bucket. There would be paper towels for cleaning on the paper towel rack on the right cabinet door, the dish towels would be on the left hanging folded neatly on their drying rack. The good paper towels were hanging on the back porch door way. The high five cabinet still hung on the wall between the back room and the back porch door way, with it’s assortment of culinary knifes and brown bread box and the spice cabinet hanging just above it with the two metal colored rosters hanging on the doors. The good cube stone wear pots and pans still hung on the peg board that hung on the wall that led into the dinning room.

“Well nothing has changed in here,” she said out to herself as she pushed off the counter and walked into the living room. She stopped just inside the door way. Nothing had changed in there either not that she expected it too.

The little cherry sewing stand that was never really used for sewing still sat in front of the couch, with the six generations of children that had grown up in the house in their different picture frames. The old glass oil looking lamp that was actually electric still sat on top of it with the corncob girl in her 1800’s pilgrims dress. The wooden carved mirror still hung on the wall over the throw blankets that were still folded neatly in their spot on the back of the couch. The old green couch still sat against the wall with the three old girl dolls of the past. Lydia was her great grandmother’s doll that was made with sawdust and still looked like it was brand new. Actually she didn’t know what the name of the doll actually was she had always called it Lydia for some reason. Then there was little Johnny, her grandmother porcelain baby boy doll sat beside her. Then there was her American girl doll Kirsten. The couch was still bombarded with throw pillows ranging from red and gold colored to a few hand crafted cross stitched pillows. The one swivel rocking chair was still covered with the stuff animals, and baby dolls. A few of them she remembered by name, her old Lazarus bear and dog, her very first baby doll Becky and her second baby doll Casey and even Jessica was sitting on the chair waiting to be played with. There were a few new ones that she couldn’t remember ever owning so they must be her baby sister’s doll babies. The coffee table still sat in front of the couch with it’s red Old McDonald barn music box, inside would be the glass figures of the mama pig and her six piglets, a brass horse, and a baby bottle she was sure of . The old glass bowel still sat in the middle with it’s assortment of different things but the one thing she remembered was the blue bird. God that thing was old. The cherry china cabinet still sat in between the windows and recliners. If she remembered correctly this one held her great-great grandmother Anna’s wedding china with a few other old artifacts inside, like her great grandmother’s pencil box. The one white rose printed lazy boy recliner with the two pillows sat next to the phone stand with the light and nightlight lamp on it with the blue phone. The one old brown bucket still sat underneath with the children books stacked inside. The red pigeon fold out desk still sat against the wall that led up the stairs to the upstairs bedrooms. A few western novels that her grandmother like to read, and the old civil war coffee grinder with it’s civil war  medal was still  sat on the top shelf. The old candle holder with it’s white candle still hung on the wall leading up the stair way. The cherry banister gleamed with dust, as it winded it’s way up the stairs. How many times had she slid down that very same banister as a little girl? To many times to count is what she figured. The new model television and VCR still sat on top of the old floor model television, still they sat against the stairs with the old stiff back chairs on each side.  The quarter wall still hid the hallway and door way into the dinning room from sight. The old red lazy boy recliner still sat nestled in the corner of the of the quarter wall. How many times had she curled up on the arm of that chair to listen to her grandmother read her the  yellow set of Little house on the Prairie set books.  The book shelf behind the chair had housed those books, along now with  the mother and daughter sets too now. God that book shelf seemed to grow larger and larger every time she saw it. It was full of the  old classic books, Shakespeare and Dickens and Frost, and Sir Walter Scott the old British and English literature. Yearbooks, and one old picture album the set of 1970’s encyclopedia that use to be her fathers, the children’s encyclopedia. The top two shelves were full of knick knacks, three Indian dolls, two one room school house bells that her grandmother Anna and her  grandmother Josephine had used in their days as teachers in one room school houses. The big gold rimed mirror still hung on the chimney above the mantel, with it’s different knick knacks lining the mantel. The old black flora printed trash can still sat beside it holding the fire place tools, with the old coal bucket on the brick floor. The old witch’s broom still hung on the hook behind the coal bucket. The black wood stove was still there in the middle of the red brick floor. How many times could she remember drying her long hair in front of the stove in the winter months, or her grandmother cooking a big pot of chili or vegetable soup on the stove. She walked over to the mantel and took the old china dish down that was filled with homemade potpourri, the potpourri that was made out of the old rose blossoms from Anna’ s, Josephine’s and now her grandmother Martha’s funeral flowers. She smelled the cinnamony fragrance before she carefully put the top back on and put it back on the mantel.

This room held a lot of memories for her, if she just closed her eyes she could almost picture her great grandmother Neenie  she had called her sitting in the recliner reading her newspaper as she rocked. Her grandma Martha sitting in the red one waiting for her curl up on her lap to listen to another story. Boy she missed those stories, and her singing. Of course the singing use to drive her crazy as a little girl, but she missed hearing those songs now. A there were only a few choice ones that she remembered fondly, that she sang as lullabies to her young ones. How she wished to be able to listen to those songs again.

She walked over to the hallway and into the dinning room. The old dinning room fold out cherry table sat blocking the closet door. The pigeon hole roll top desk still sat in the little nook. The glass record cabinet still had the old vinyl records in it. The newest model stereo still sat on top. The column pictures still hung on the wall. The china cabinet that housed Neenie’s and her grandmother Martha’s wedding china wasn‘t in the same spot it had been when she had grown up only because of the new  wood burning stove was there in it‘s place. The china cabinet hadn‘t moved out of the dining room though. The one full length mirror still hung on the narrow wall between the bath room and the bedroom. How many times had she used to talk to her imaginary friends, in front of that mirror? Way too many she figured. The dinning room was never really a dinning room in her whole life time. It was just another play room for her. She listened to her music, and sang and danced around with her imaginary friends. It was the place where she played with her Barbie’s and her dad’s old Johnny West dolls that she took over playing with, in the summer. It’s where she had typed up countless stories on the old pull out ribbon typewriter, and even on the electric one. It’s where she had laid on the floor and read her many stories, played with paper dolls. It was just one of her many play rooms in this house. The den’s door was still shut off to block out the cold and to help with the heating bill. It once had been her bedroom the television room now it was just storage another storage room full of her grandmother’s clothes, and her old children’s books, coloring books, her dad’s old board games. The bedroom door was still chained shut so nosey people couldn’t and wouldn’t go in there. She still couldn’t bring herself to unhook the chair and step in there. That had been her grandmother’s bed room and Neenie’s bed room. It had even been her bedroom, only because she had slept with her grandmother for god knows how long, well past the age of ten she knew. If she recalled correctly she finally moved out of her grandmother’s bed room at the age of eleven or maybe it was when she started junior high but she couldn’t really remember.

The bathroom still looked the same with the bar wall new shower that her dad had put in when she was ten or twelve years old. The three mirror vanity with the shelf that housed the perfume bottles. Mostly Chantelies perfume. Neenie’s jewelry box and her old one still sat on the chest of drawls that held the night clothes, undergarments. The door two stairs still had the plastic boxes with curlers and hair ribbons and shoes and house slippers and a few towels on it blocking the door way up to the first attic. She wasn’t even going to climb that stair way. God only knew what stuff was cluttered on those stairs now.

She stood there in front of the mirror and let out a huge expel of air. “Well I guess I better take a look up stairs, although I reckon it hadn’t changed very much in the last eight years,” she muttered to herself as she slowly climbed up the stairs.

She stopped on the landing how many times had she played with her Barbie’s up here in the winter because it was warmer. She never really used a doll house even though she had one. In fact she had almost everything Barbie had ever made since 1985 to at least 1995, maybe later then that. “Man I was spoiled rotten,” she muttered to her self as memories started flooding her mind once again. She walked up to the bedroom that they had always called her grandmother’s bedroom for some reason. She took a quick look inside. “Yep still the same,” she muttered, noticing the clothes still stacked up on the bed. The cardboard boxes still filled with clothes that she had worn when she was a young girl. If she had to choose one word to describe her grandmother pack rat would be a good one. The woman had kept everything, from old school worked papers, to clothes to little meaningful objects that had no purpose in life. A few things she, herself could understand, for a keep sake box, maybe a few of her favorite outfits that she wore constantly when she was younger, a few of her good school reports, things of that nature, after all she did that with her own two kids now and she would do it with the twins when they started school too.

She shut the bedroom door and opened the toy room door. Why it was called a toy room was beyond her, but it was still a disaster from the damage her father had done in trying to get the hornet’s nest out of there. It was going to take a lot of elbow grease and some hard cleaning to get that room back to normal. She stepped over the second landing on to the stair that led to her old room, unhooking the door she stepped inside. It was still a cluttered mess, full of her things, her step mom’s things, baby things and she knew what her dad’s old bedroom look like it was cluttered with Barbie toys, and just plain out toys. A lot of work she was going to need a dumpster or one big old yard sale for sure in order to get the house back to order again. A task she wasn’t altogether looking forward too but then again she was.