Forty Acres and a Dream

The land bore scars like we all did: great gashes where a tornado fell century-old oaks, where a shed had once stood, and where a trailer had moved several yards east.

I saw the blossoms more: of the dewberry vines creeping back, of daffodils left unattended for a handful of springs, and the light green of budding elms.  Clover grew thick near ditches and away from cattle’s reach while Bahia grass stretched across pastures.

We had returned to pour a new foundation and place steel beams where wood had once sufficed.

The range out back remained unchanged and the fort that our parents had built, decades ago, still stood despite the storms.  So many memories formed in those woods and fields; so much hope and faith intertwined in watching the seasons’ magic change, year in and year out.

Foot-high grass, so thick and rich and green, where young kids, both human and goat, hid and frolicked.

The climbing tree with branches a foot wide and brushing the ground, perfect for slightly older children learning to scramble high.

A play set where we clambered with opened umbrellas to catch the wind from its topmost ladder, right before a summer’s storm, never quite certain if we played Mary Poppins or Mary Darling.

A field for teens just learning to drive, an old Chevy truck barely hanging on.

Soil, dark and fertile, where we watched seedlings grow, where we danced in-between rows of corn and sunflowers.

A place where the day’s golden hour caught field and tree, turning all amber for a moment.

A place away from the city’s lights where the stars shone with a closeness and wonder.

Forty acres and a dream, paid for by our parents, immortalized in us kids. A place to grow, to learn, to explore; a place to ground, to comfort, to heal. Oh, they couldn’t have known the haven that they made, all those years ago, but there are signs:

Strength in the oak; strength in one sister’s spine, wearing that badge.

Peace in the loam and growing of things; peace in another sister’s heart, calming us all.

Laughter and hope and adventure in the boys, unafraid to weave a new trail through the woods and pastureland.  A steadiness in their hands as they shape a future from their mind’s eyes, evaluating, reworking, trying.

Forty acres, six kids, and a dream.

This is one portion of that dream.