Things

Whenever I am concentrating on any area of my home, whether cleaning, organizing or rearranging, I cannot escape the fact that I have a lot of things. Working outside is no exception. “Too much stuff,” is a frequent thought, but when it comes to getting rid of things, I’m selective. Often, objects hold memories. They are keepers of history. They evoke feelings; they are charged with emotion.

In the back flower bed, there’s a little grouping made up of parts of an old wood stove and two deer skulls. I remember when my grandsons and I came upon the stove parts in the woods, remnants, maybe, of an old logging camp. Brandon saw it as treasure, and wanted to bring it home. Though my pockets were already filled with sticks and stones and other treasures they were keeping, I refused to haul the stove. “Too heavy,” I said. So, though he was just a little guy, maybe five years old at the time, he carried it home himself. On other days, on walks that led us through Bobby Graves’s hunt camp, Michael and Brandon each found a deer skull. Though those boys are adults now, with children of their own, their treasures still sit in my flower bed, reminding me of when they were small.

Also in that bed is my Flying Pig sculpture, made for me by my son-in-law. He knows I love pigs and, well, pigs with wings are even better! I love that it is made of scrap, that it rolls on little wheels, and that its aluminum wings stay bright all year. From his place of honor among the daffodils, my flying pig watches over the back yard.

That flower bed wraps around the house, to the south side of the house. There, amid the daylilies and beside the kitchen door, is another pig. This one sits on a pole that brings him up to about shoulder height. He’s dressed like an old-fashioned pilot, and sits in a helicopter with rotors that spin in the wind. A little “welcome” sign dangles below the aircraft. This was a birthday gift for me, from my sister, Cheryl, and it always makes me think of her.

Near the vegetable garden sits an old, rustic bench that my husband made, back when he was my husband. It’s made up of 2 x 6 lumber, cut with a power saw, and hammered together. Exposed to the weather all year, the seat has pretty much rotted away. Still, it’s a handy place to put my coffee when I’m out working in the garden!

Someday, no doubt, someone will be tasked with going through my things. I imagine “what in the world…” will be a common refrain, as well as “WHY would anyone hold onto this?” I won’t be able to answer, then, but I can explain right now: the objects that I keep are links to people that I love, or memories that I hold dear. So, thank you very much, for now I will continue to hold on to my things!