It was sometime in the late 1990s that I had a huge task in front of me. . .We had just bought a 1910 Craftsman-style home in a small town in Arkansas. . .It had three floors, the third being a large room attic. . .And it was full. . .Full of old photos, papers, broken furniture, books. . .all the things a family had accumulated for at least 80 years. . .
It fell upon me to clear it all out. . .
While I did find many 'keepers'. . .I think my favorite was this simple note from one of the mothers who had raised their children in the huge old house. . ."Gone To The Farm. . .Ma". . .
I became attached to that note. . .and carried it with me over the years as my job opportunities took me to other states. . .Never realizing. . .nor desiring. . .that I would be returning to the farm one day. . .It was almost as if the note looked into my future. . .and knew what was to be.
So here we are today. . ."Gone to our own farm". . .and the note remains in my treasures. . .I am so thankful that we have been safe down on the farm during these days of the virus and lock-downs. . .It has become a haven and an even greater delight for us.
One never knows when the smallest thing can become such a blessed one. . .