A Home to Hold

The wind whistled through the tall wheat fields. The blue skies smiled down on me as a I law nested in the soft grass that bordered the property. My dad built this place in 1983 with a couple of his friends and a few family members. He personally planted all of the trees that form a wind shield protecting our home from both onlookers and snow drifts. In the winter it always smells like wood from the wood stove that burns as often as we would like to keep warm. My house is cozy, my dad originally built it to be designed similar to a log cabin, only with cedar siding instead of logs. My house is small, nothing grande, just a two bedroom, enough for me and my mom and dad.

I got home from school a couple hours ago, and quickly rushed out the door after throwing my bag on the ground before the mom caught me. It’s summer now, school is almost over, and the warmth in the air is unbearable, only when unable to go outside. I run down the gravel road that leads to the little scraggly patch of trees I call my “forest”. I tiptoe through the tall grass praying that the wasps haven’t made their hive yet and I can still sneak through unscathed. The wall of trees greet me and I duck down under a branch that always seems to be a perfect magical doorway. Only now I have to duck a little further down than I used to. The only disadvantage between trees in the summer and trees in the winter, is spiders. My head glances back and forth on the lookout – just in case. They wouldn’t be very big, luckily in Alberta the largest spider I’ve seen was the size of a toonie – and I am very grateful for that. Nevertheless, spiders are not my friend, and I am especially wary of them when I’m in their territory. I slip through the narrow pathway of trees until I get to my tree – Chester. I don’t think he’s a chestnut tree, but I named him Chester anyway. He’s a small mammoth with bark that looks like the skin of a wrinkly old man. One of his most interesting characteristics is that he decided, at a very young age, that he would grow through the fence dividing the two famer’s fields. And although now most of the fence is buried in the ground because of weather and age, there can still be seen bits and edges sticking out of both his sides. I grab onto his big arm and pull myself up. He has one giant arm that is so strong I can sit on it. The rest of him doesn’t get excessively big, at one point he may have been struck by lighting and that stunted his growth, but his arm is strong and comforting.

I lean myself back against his rough bark and take in the view. Peace. The wind is still gently blowing through the fields and the birds can be heard chirping. There is the subtle sound of insects buzzing to and fro, but in the summertime that sound quickly becomes unheard. The sun is still shining brightly over the fields casting a warm golden hue on the nature surrounding. I just sit and listen, talk to myself, to the trees, and imagine great adventures.

Suddenly, I hear a car slowing down and I turn. The old beat-up red van tells me it’s my dad coming home from work. He delivers mail – therefore my mom is constantly having an affair with the mailman. And I enjoy telling people that. I slip off from my throne and run out to meet him. Instead of running the way I came, I go through the field – just on the edges so as not to crush any of our neighbor’s crops.

“Dad!” I call, turning the corner.

“Oh, hello Abigail,” He reaches out his right arm to embrace me with a quick side hug. “Were you having fun?” I nod happily, “Ya, I was just sitting in Chester.”

“That’s good,” he says, “Would you like a ride up to the house?”

“Ya, I suppose so,” I sigh, “I have my last bit of homework still to do.” I help him close the gate behind us before hopping into the van. The van smells like gravel dust and Mars Bars.

Sometimes – on the rare occasion – when Dad would pick me up from school, he would have a pack of Mars Bars waiting for me and I got to have one. I smiled for the short 2 second drive up the house. The trees shielding had grown into true warriors, tall spruce trees. Sometimes when I would walk by them – especially in the winter – I would instantly feel as though I was in the mountains. It’s amazing how far smell can carry someone - even back home when you’re a million miles away. The grass was finally green after the long, long winter and the leaves in the trees had already darkened from their first light budding.

I walk up the boardwalk to the entrance of our home and notice the remnants of the lilacs that were proudly blooming only a month before. The wooden walkway creeks under my feet as I help dad carry some boxes in from the van.

“Hi mom,” I call.

“Hi sweetie. You left your bag in the hall again,” she says, finishing up on a sauce that’s bubbling on the stove.

“Oh, sorry.” I state not really sorry at all, as that was my intention as I darted out of the house.

“Uh -hu” she says, “You need to get better at putting that in your room first thing as you come in. That “hallway” is tiny enough as it is without having a bag in the road.” It was a common argument. She always reminded me and I never did it. Not once. Maybe once. No…never mind…not once. I picked up my bag and slumped it in my room.

“What time is dinner going to be ready?” I call back to the kitchen.

“Another half hour or so.” She says. I grab my bag and pull it next to my desk in the corner. My room isn’t small, but it isn’t very opulent either. It is – like the rest of the house – quaint and down to earth. I hear a noise coming from my loft bed. My dad also built my bed for me for my 13th birthday. He could have been a carpenter. He makes kid’s toys and he tried to sell them for a while, but there isn’t really a huge market for tiny local toys and accessories. I climb up the ladder to investigate the noise discovering that in fact all three of my cats have snuggled together on my bed. I giggle and pull myself up squishing my way next to them. They feel warm and smell like sleep – such contentment.

The evening goes by quickly and night is fast coming. Soon all my homework is done, and I look forward to a quick show before heading to bed. I get up from my desk and walk into the kitchen where mom is on the computer doing something quite important and ground-breaking.

“Mom, you want to watch something with me?” I ask.

“Sure, you pick something out and I’ll be there in a minute.” She says, giving me a quick smile.

“Dad, you want to watch something?” I call, heading over to our armoire that has since been filled with DVDs and VHS’.

I hear a calm call from behind me, “Alright.” And shifting sounds of him getting out of bed to come and watch with us.

I pull out a really good episode of “MacGyver” and get myself properly positioned on the couch. Soon Dad is sitting across from me and Mom sits next to him. They discreetly hold each other’s hand, but I notice. I press play and let myself get carried away into the world that was and the world that may be. This is my home, my happy place, surrounded by the people and critters I love. And even when I can’t live here anymore, I know I can always carry it with me.

In loving memory of my Dad, Willie, 1955 – 2019.