Until Tomorrow, Redbarn

Next week, we sell the farm.  My parents' farm, the worn out dairy and cropland they resurrected and recreated as hayfields and pastures, an orchard and a garden. 

The eclectic and eccentric old house that they made even more rambling and shotgun with the addition of a loft, a greenhouse, a kitchen, bedroom, and the combination mudroom and bath that the kids called their own during holiday visits.  The stained glass windows remain as do the antique light fixtures my dad rewired and hung for the third time.  This time it was for good.  The sheds are as clean as century old sheds can be, ready to hold another farmer's machinery or another family's tools.  

At least a year's worth of good dry oak is stacked and under cover.

The sickle bar mower out back which two generations of kids have posed upon stays, even though Ann and Matt would love to have had it on their new farmstead. Same for the Redbarn paving stone Lee brought them for a present from the garden center in Columbia.  But my dad never put anything in the ground without concrete and these will be remembrances from the past for the future in this place.

It has been a lovely place and will be loved again. There's no doubt it is a more fruitful place than when they bought it; my father believed he was merely a steward of the land he was entrusted with. The new owner is a neighbor; he's someone my folks liked and trusted; his parents and grandparents are people we've all known for decades.  The land will be in good hands and the cows will be happy. That makes letting go much easier.

And it's time to let go.  Even all the happy memories from this house, this farm, this land, cannot make it more than an empty shell without my dad's music coming from the shop or my mom's houseplants hanging in the market.  Her flowerpots will be planted by loving hands this spring and cared for by the host of gardeners in our family.  The signs they made for their orchard have come north: "Merry Christmas", "The Old Home Place" "Temporarily Out", "Back in 40 Minutes"and "See You Next Year".  

But it's the last one, written in black Sharpie, that speaks to my heart....

"Until Tomorrow".

'Til then.....

Goodbye to Redbarn