Six weeks have passed since we returned from our visit “home” to the farm where I was raised. I can’t believe how much time has elapsed and that I am only now able to begin to process the experience and sort through my antique treasures. It was fun being able to tell our kids stories about my childhood, now that they are 4 and 6, starting to grasp the idea that I really lived there, starting to be curious.
It was an emotional visit at times. It’s hard seeing the scenes of my childhood becoming overgrown, to watch our grandparents home slowly fall into disrepair. In fact, it was my grandfather’s grandparents house before they married in the early 1940s. I lived next door, and spent many weekend days there, playing games with my brother and grandparents, sitting and visiting with grandma.
As usual, I did a lot of sorting and looking through old papers, letters and photos. I am the person in my generation who is fascinated with the past and tracing though all the loose ends.
I came across some interesting drama that all started with the building of a barn in 1920, and the struggles my great grandparents and grandparents went through to keep the farm. And now, my own siblings and I have scattered to various urban centres, from Windsor, Ontario to Konstanz, Germany. I wonder what our ancestors would think of our paths?
I have started photographing and taking notes from some of the documents, hoping to find a story I can write out of it. I’ll probably do some posts along the way, as I find interesting things. It’s amazing how times have changed. I found this little packet, with what looks like pick up lines for a young lady: