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©Linda Nelson 2014

Living as an adult in the house that I grew up in has it’s pros and cons.  The positive side is that I don’t have to work at making it feel like home.  It just is.  Decorating and redesigning is simply icing on the cake.  On the negative side, well… I never left home.  I’m sure that I have missed out on some of life’s interesting challenges.  Anyway, I’m invested, established and running a business.  Beloved pets are buried here; a pony, a goat, a rabbit, a parakeet, a cat, a dog and numerous guinea pigs.  As for my daughter’s salamander…… I wish I could say that he(or she) received a sacred burial.  One day we noticed that it was not in it’s tank.  Need I say more?

So, this is where my heart is.  This is why I stay.  And because every so often I unexpectedly unearth a childhood “fossil” that thrills me so.

©Linda Nelson 2014

I dug this little demitasse spoon up about four years ago while doing some planting in one of my garden beds.  I remember using it to make mud pies when I was little.  It’s all scratched up, but in my eyes it’s perfect.

©Linda Nelson 2014

And just last fall I found one of my grandmother’s hairpins.  She used to have this cushioned side chair in her cottage.  Years after she passed away, the chair eventually ended up in my garage. I had been holding onto it for about twenty years with the best intention to refinish and reupholster it.  It became laden with musty mold, and a mouse had decided to nest in its horsehair stuffing.  Sadly, it had to go.  I accepted the fact that I was never going to put this project on my to-do list.  “But the springs…… maybe I’ll gut the chair and save the springs.”  So that’s what I did, and out fell the hairpin.

©Linda Nelson 2014

Then there was the old railroad spike.  I can’t seem to recall when I dug that up, but I certainly do remember “harvesting” them with my dad.  This would be after we would put a penny on the track and let the early evening train flatten it.  Now that there wouldn’t be another train coming for a while we’d walk along the tracks looking for tossed railroad spikes.  Then we would proceed to a specific spot on the shoulder of the road and pick wild blueberries.  Upon walking back home we’d stand on the highway overpass and wave to the cars below, keeping count of how many people would wave back.  On a really lucky evening the Good Humor truck would come by, but that didn’t happen often enough.

So, why would I leave home when there’s more digging to do, and possibly, more sweet memories to find?