The Homestead
Finally summer is here and the kids are gone to their fathers for a few weeks, I almost feel guilty about enjoying this time but I have become accustomed to their leaving every summer, slowly relishing in this over the years.
Getting out of the car I stretch leisurely, feeling the slight pull in my coiled muscles, tightened by the long drive to and from the airport and then to here, and I exhale, relaxing into the moment, releasing stress.
The homestead, it has been in our family for as long as I can remember, a stumbling old 3 story house with acres of land, an apple orchid, various berry fields, gardens with a mix of exotic and staid flower beds, grape vines and I could never forget the gnarling but luxurious butternut trees as I once again find myself glowering, looking around the ground for those stubby nuts. I remind myself to be careful not to step on any remembering the pain they can cause.
The trees themselves were stoic, rigid, but yet hauntingly beautiful, always out of touch to me. Never could I climb up and batter back my brother after he tortured me mercilessly then fled, climbing high into the green cloud of leaves, out of reach. My fear of heights always kept me grounded as I stood and glared up at him wanting so badly to scream while listening to more of his taunting and laughter, but ladies were not allowed to scream. Oh! He would make me so angry and these trees added to my frustration! Now they are only soft fond memories as a gentle smile plays in my eyes and glows.
Ah the feeling of freedom is coming back, the want to take off my shoes and let the damp tender grass tickle bare feet. How I loved running through the fields barefoot every chance I could get, even though it was not allowed and I would find so much trouble if caught.
My father taught me the key was not to get caught, the old Military way, and be prepared for the consequences if you did. I think he loved to see this side of me but would not go against my mother and stood by her side firm and unforgiving, distant if I were to cause any disruption in peace.
Longingly I look out over the lush fields past the brook to the apple orchids, “my place” I thought instinctively and even possessively. I was surprised and caught off guard as this last feeling entered my mind with vigor, me possessive? Well now there is a surprise I did not realize before. What other surprises are forthcoming this summer I wonder? Many, I hope, tensing and flexing then relishing in the feeling of relaxation again. What a beautiful feeling!
It was in the apple orchid I ran bare foot; here I spent many days alone encompassed by the damp smell of apples rotting on the ground, listening to bees, reading while lying on the grass. I giggled to myself softly thinking of another “don’t do” but I am sure as heck going to do it this year with no one to correct me or stop me.
Shaking myself out of my reveries I look to the locked door, so many sad memories buried in there. I will miss my Great Aunt; she was the rock, the strict matron, ruler of the family and towered above all of us just by her look and stature alone. In there were the rules, lessons of placement, obedience from chamber maid to behaving as ladies of the court. There were many history lessons taught here also as we finished our chores and listened to the elders talk around the staunch table and us children by the huge black woodstove, puffing out smoke, the smell of yeast and fresh cooked dough.
How I dreaded the cellar there, with no electricity to the house and stone rocks that leapt up to cut tendered feet after a sessions of caning when caught running barefoot outdoors again, my Achilles heels.
My Aunt’s words once again cut through the fog, “A lady does not purport herself this way, next my child you will be wearing pants, or taking off your underlings!
Up and down the cellar stairs I would trod and trip, refusing to cry under the torment of this reflective punishment, to remunerate on my weakness and disobedience. It was always a relief to hit that very bottom and feel soft dry, warm, brushed sand, then start my way back up. Oh how I yearned to curl up and soothe myself here but I daren’t.
As I made my way forward to unlock the door, I again queried to myself why she left me this place, heck even why she did not marry and spent years alone here and a thought hit me!
“Oh Dearest Auntie, I always thought you felt I was such an errant child and a tyrant to you”, I whispered to the house, pressing my forehead to the timber flake beside the door, suddenly remembering one confession she made softly to me before her passing last fall. “You are a lot like me child, in so many ways you wouldn’t dream…”
“Why did you live here 80+ years alone fighting in your last years to return at least for the duration of the summer ?” A mischievous smile entered my eyes as I unlocked the door and stepped in, now with the freedom to explore upstairs which was always out of bounds to everyone and I mean everyone but her. My parents resented the fact she would not even allow them to look beyond the curving staircase she so staunchly guarded and the pantry stair casing was always locked so even little cunning children couldn’t sneak up, and believe me we tried.
