Leaving a Trace…

When we moved into this upstate area five years ago, hubby and I noticed quickly the old farmhouses dotting the landscape.  One caught my eye almost immediately.  It looked like it had been a well loved home and I often mentioned that I wish I could hear the stories the walls could tell.

The house screamed that it had been filled with many family moments.   The porch looked like it was a lovely place to sit, rock and talk away the hours.   The back yard looked like a haven for children to run, play, scream and cause parents concern at their antics.   I often thought of how the inside looked, and could imagine family meals, holiday celebrations, birthday celebrations full of laughter and noise and chaos.   The exterior looked worn, and tired.

Each time driving past the house I would think the same thoughts.  That is, until the one morning I drove past the house and it was gone.    It wasn’t being torn down, it hadn’t caught fire, it was gone.  Not a stick of it remained.   There was no trace of a basement or foundation.  There was the driveway and the mailbox and nothing else.   At first, I thought I was looking in the wrong place, but no, I wasn’t.

It still remains a mystery to me as whatever happened to that house.  I figured it was moved, but it must have been a quick move since the house was a large farmhouse.  The house disappeared a couple years ago and I still think of it.  I am hoping it is in a wonderful new place with a fresh coat of paint and filled again with a loving family.

Today, as I headed into town, I noticed a farm truck  pulled off by where the house once stood.  I glanced over and noticed the area is now almost fully covered by farm.  The driveway looks like a foot path that is hardly used.  If I hadn’t known a house had been there, I would think it was just part of the farm land.

As I drove on, thinking how there was almost no trace of the house, the thought occurred to me, what kind of trace will be visible after I am no longer here.  Yes, I know that is sort of morbid, but I found it interesting and also challenging for me.   In order to leave a trace when I am gone means I must make a difference now.  I came to no real conclusions, but, something has been provoked in me to think of the trace I desire to leave.

That’s it for today…  thanks for stopping by, Cathi (DAF)


Published by marycatherinethomas

M. Catherine Thomas is a published writer, speaker and teacher. Mother of two and grandmother..

4 thoughts on “Leaving a Trace…

  1. We sold our house and it stood empty for some months; we went away for a weekend and came back to find not a bit of it standing. It felt most odd. And my wife still dreams of that house thirty+ years later.

  2. Oh my! I could only imagine, it must have felt like all of your memories were erased. Your comment has struck a deep chord within me. Have you ever written about it? Thank you for stopping by.

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