Coming Home
Coming Home
It had been almost four years since I had visited my father’s homestead. When I first laid eyes on the rough, unhewn piece of property it was a mere shell of the magnificently nurtured piece of land that now lie before me. From a quarter mile up the winding gravel road I began to feel my father’s unique and unmistakable presence. My father, maybe a half century old, somehow embraced an even older, forgotten set of rules. A set of rules that said things built with your hands were things built better.
I drove up slowly, a futile attempt at keeping my shiny red car clean in the inevitable plume of dust. My late model automobile seemed a futuristic time machine in the rustic surroundings. Roger, my father’s ancient, salt and pepper toned Australian sheepdog, ambled up slowly with his usual vacant and friendly stare. I greeted Roger with a warm hug, forgetting in my delight that I would smell of dog and horse for the rest of my day. My eyes caught a flash of sun off the creek in the distance, a silvery ribbon meandering through the evergreens. I recalled crisp mornings spent charming trout with hook and line.
To my left was the wooden corral containing the friendly beasts that shared my fondest childhood memories. The old stalwarts were there. Bonfire, a muscular horse with a chestnut coat and a docile manner. Dusty, the old buckskin that was great with children and my father’s preferred mount. And Jake, the huge and ornery black mule my father enlisted to pack supplies. There were also several unfamiliar horses. So the years bring new faces.
To my right stood a new hay barn. Built tall and strong with fresh wood and my father’s skilled hands. Under its twenty-foot roof sat a towering stack of sweet smelling, lime green hay. Just more than enough, for my father was not to be caught off guard by the occasional harsh winter or late spring growth. The roof cascaded down longer on one side to house what was most likely a saddle shed. The entire structure gave off a stern sense of efficiency.
As I started towards the house I felt the twinge of excitement and anxiety one gets when seeing a loved one after a long separation. The house, constructed with enormous logs stacked atop each other and interconnected at the corners, looks as if it...