Driving by Grandma Chapman's

While visiting my maternal grandmother over the holiday weekend, we drove past my great-grandmother's old home. As a child, I spent many days tromping around the East Texas pines, searching for petrified wood, riding the cow, and avoiding the outhouse at all costs. There's something magical about natural places, at least to a city girl, and I couldn't get enough of the smell of sweetgrass and the sudden summer rains.

A few years ago, I decided Kenzie (and I) needed to live in a wild place. I entertained dreams of living in Grandma Chapman's house, growing our food, canning, milking the family cow, gathering eggs from our laying hens, drinking iced tea on the porch, and generally living off the land. I pored over homesteading books, gardening books, canning books, and country living books. I scoured the Internet for information on East Texas soil conditions. I researched the pros and cons of living off the grid. I began keeping my eyes open at thrift shops for items that might be useful. I dreamed of Grandma Chapman's house, trying to remember each detail: how the kitchen was arranged, the size of the bedrooms, the area that would be my vegetable garden, whether or not the front porch could support a swing. I made lists upon lists. I was ready.

There were a few problems, though. The house was (and is) owned by my great-aunt and -uncle who who never made necessary repairs and rented it out to people who had no reason to want to keep it up. Because of this, the house was in shambles. Paint was peeling, wood was rotting, the barn and chicken coop were falling in on themselves....

Without a lot of cash, it would be difficult to rebuild. Also, a disturbing crime had taken place at the house while it was rented to several meth addicts. Because of this, the well where I often played as a child had been filled-in.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't think twice about this house. Who in her right mind would want to live there? But this was Grandma Chapman's home. This was a place that held so many memories for me - the canopy of tree branches over the road, the amazing thunderstorms, the wild spinach that grew at the end of the driveway. This was my most special place, and I wanted my son to be able to experience the things I experienced.

Of course, my memories and experiences could never be his, but I felt Kenzie was missing out on something crucial. Perhaps he was. Perhaps he is.

I decided we couldn't live there.

Do I sometimes regret the decision?  Yeah.  There are days when we are too involved in things that don't seem real. Some days are filled with computers and fast food and traffic jams. We find ourselves wanting every new plastic thing we see. We have to google the weather to find out what the day is like. It's not always like this. It's not even usually like this. But, even a day or two without playing in the grass, or watching things grow (even if it's only weeds in the yard), or looking at the stars can take its toll.

Driving slowly by the house this weekend reminded me of the reasons we cannot live there - at least not yet. It also made me long to be able to live there more than I ever have before. Maybe one day, after saving up for a while, I'll consider homesteading at my great-grandmother's again. Until then, we can work with what we've got - a big yard, lots of weeds to watch, Grandma Chapman's old iron bedstead, and lots of my childhood memories.

At Grandma Chapman's house

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