Gone Country, Back to My Roots. Part 2.

Lately I’ve been dreaming a lot about living in the country.

Raising farm kids, with their very own horse.

Farm-fresh eggs every morning from our very own brood of chickens.

Fantasizing about hearing the sounds of nature at night ~ crickets and coyotes ~ rather than the sounds of gun shots ambulance sirens, trains, bass blaring from car speakers all hours of the day and night, and traffic noise that goes along with living on a semi-busy street a few blocks from downtown.

Poring over farmhouse floor plans, and designing, in my mind, the perfect farm-style kitchen of my dreams.

You know, to cook all the organic vegetables we’ll be growing in our garden….

I’m sure it has a lot to do with the turbulence of the past four years….the remodeling, the sick spouse, the brain tumor….

Its all been, well, a lot to handle….

“Lot” being an understatement.

And I want to run away.

But it also goes deeper than that…..my roots are in the country. And I’m feeling this pull to get back to my roots and live the simple life.

Hard….but simple. If that makes any sense.

Going to my cousin’s wedding in March didn’t help the situation.

At this church.

This church, that you can’t get to without driving a couple of miles down Nacogdoches-county-red-clay-dirt roads to get to.

This church that has been in existence since 1834.

Isn’t this just so Little House on the Prairie?

Something about this church makes me want to spread out a quilt and have a picnic on the grounds, just like the Sunday when Ma and Pa Baptized their baby boy…

There’s a cemetary out back.

My grandfather is buried here.

Well, not technically my ‘blood’ grandfather…technically, my dad’s step-dad. But my ‘blood’ grandfather died in 1947, so Truce was the one I knew and loved.

Here’s Truce and me back in 1976. And Joe the horse. We loved Joe, and going to feed the cows with Truce in his old red Chevy truck is one of my favorite childhood memories.

Truce is buried next to his first wife, Zee.

And their two babies. 🙁 Its a sad story.

I love my church, but something about this church makes me want to worship the Lord here with Ma and Pa and Mary, Laura, and Carrie, and the Olesons and Reverend Alden on Sunday mornings.

And drive home down this road.

And be neighbors with these folks.

And have a barn like this one.

And have a sign just like this one down by the fence.

And go on dates with my hubby on Saturday nights here, at the 7th Street Restaurant.

Don’t laugh; it was featured in Texas Monthly. That ain’t nothin’ to sneeze at.

I’d love to live closer to my 92-year-old grandmother.

I don’t see her enough, and that makes me sad.

I’d build a house just like this one….white frame, deep porch with a blue ceiling, hardwood floors. The house in my dreams has a tin roof, though…

One of these days……..