My parents are in the process of moving here, and we could not be more thrilled to have them live right down the road from us! Their 'Act III', as we call it, is going to be quite the awesome adventure. I knew that I needed to see my childhood home one last time before the new owners started their own story there. So, with two kids and a husband in tow, we headed towards southwest Virginia last weekend so that I could say a final goodbye.
We drove down the long driveway that curves around the intricately landscaped island with the red Japanese maple to park near the backyard gate, which opens up to the most bountiful magnolia tree. I wish I could bottle up the fragrance of that tree because it smells like sunny afternoons and laughter. I have yet to find a magnolia blossom with exactly the same smell as the ones that adorn that tree.
I opened the same squeaky front door that was always open to friends and visitors. The sound of that door itself made my eyes glisten. I walked inside and took it all in through my senses. With all of the furniture removed, the house still smelled the same. Shockingly, it did not feel like an empty house; instead, it felt like a visit with a very close friend.
I walked into the kitchen that housed countless breakfasts, afternoon snacks, conversation, and Christmas dance parties sweetened by wine. I watched as my husband and daughter enjoyed lunch from Elizabeth's Pizza (the best!) while I sat on the empty floor of the breakfast room with my baby boy. I sat in wonder of how - as time rolls on and things change - the most important piece of it all has, is, and always will be family.
Seashell said, "Mommy, let's go on an adventure!", so we ran from room to room and laughed and talked about the special memories that were made inside the house. She also thought it was extremely exciting to use every potty in the house because "that one is different than the other one!" The upstairs laundry chute was especially exciting for her, as well. We looked through the windows of my childhood bedroom out towards the backyard where many beloved dogs used to run and play and dig. For a moment, I saw them there. My eyes teared up as I remembered their sweet souls and their unconditional love.
We walked back downstairs to join hubby and baby boy, I took a deep breath, and I closed the squeaky door one last time.
We piled into the car and drove the short mile to Lake Lanier. I showed my sweet girl the place where, as a child, I used to run to the grassy, pebbled edge of the lake to feed the ducks with my siblings. I looked around and realized that the feelings were all the same today as they were decades ago - feelings of freedom, joy, and peace. Seashell ran over the bridge with her daddy at least 10 times just like I used to do while my baby boy and I watched from the picnic table. We soaked up the stillness, and my eyes began to glisten once again.
And, we headed home.
What I will miss the most about my beautiful childhood home was how special, welcoming, and warm it was to all who knew it and loved it. I may only hope that I am able to create such a positive and comforting nest for my own children. Through their own love and dedication to our family, my parents created a haven for us that was safe, nurturing, fun, honest, and creative. The woods behind the house sparked our imaginations, the front porch ignited honest conversation, and the kitchen housed the most wonderful smells in the world . . . as well as the most infectious laughter.
What I will miss the most about the town is it's sincerity. There is nothing like growing up in a place where everyone feels like family. Martinsville is a special, sacred place, and I am exactly who I am today because I was lucky enough to call Martinsville my home for the duration of my childhood and young adulthood.
Martinsville, I will see you at Rooster Walk each May so that my sweet children may themselves soak up the experience of such a magical and wonderful place.
Thank you for the memories and for teaching me how to always, always, always, always . . . appreciate the present.
Seashell, age 2
May 2016
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