QotD: [this is home]
Where do you consider home? Is it the place you grew up; the place you're currently living? Why is it home?
Submitted by uncagedbird.
Home, for me, will always be the farm in northern Pennsylvania where I grew up.
It's the barn, trees, wide open fields and long dirt roads of my memories.
I wrote this short story years ago, but I think it sums up why that farm will always be home to me.
“Days of the Daisy”
by Debbie Chilson
Two girls raced across the open field, hopping lightly over the tall grass and laughing as it tickled their bare legs. They both wore shorts, cut-offs that their mother had done a few days earlier, and t-shirts without sleeves. Their long brown hair was tied back with rubber bands hidden underneath red-with-white-flowered “farmer’s handkerchiefs.” They were smiling and laughing as the played.
Occasionally, they stopped as they made their way through tall grass of the hayfield and gently caught up a flower in their hands. The flowers were white with yellow centers. Some of the white flowers were as big as a fist, while others were quite small. The girls ignored the smaller ones, picking only the biggest and tucking them into bundles inside their shirts, which they held by the hem to carry the flowers as one might cradle a baby in their arms.
Then, laughing, the girls would run some more. The field was big and the sun was still high in the sky…
Jenny sat on the stone porch, gazing out at the hayfield were she used to play as a child. The stones were crumbling and unstable, but she didn’t seemed to notice, as her mind was locked inside the memories…
The sun moved westward in the sky, dipping lower into the trees behind the house on the hill that the girls called home. Their shirts were now full of flowers and they could carry no more. In the distance, they could hear their mother calling. She stood on the stairs behind the barn, where they were sure to see her, waving her hands and gesturing that it was time to come in for the night. The girls clutched their treasures and, following the sound of their mother’s voice, headed back to the barn.
*****
Warm winds blew, whipping long brown hair in front of two pairs of upturned eyes. Small hands gripped cardboard rolls as the strings extending upwards from them tightened and slacked with each strong gust. And high in the air, hovering suspended above the two girls, two colorful diamonds--one red, the other green--swayed, dancing on the breeze.
The girls sat in the middle of the barnyard, perching upon the trunk of an over-turned tree. The wood was already beginning to rot, being eaten internally by myriads of tiny insects. The children, however, did not mind the decay. They only squealed with joy as their kites dipped in the wind.
Their laughter rang out across the pasture, causing several black and white cows to lift their heads, momentarily diverting them from their grassy snack...
The screen door behind Jenny opened and her husband, Mike, stepped off the porch. The squeaky door banged shut as Mike sat beside his wife on the old stone steps. He did not say a word. They both stared across the road to the old barn with its faded red paint and patched roof.
The wind picked up and the red and green diamonds bobbed and spiraled in the sky. The girls--still with eyes upturned--leapt down from their perch and watched their kites with bated breath. The kites twisted and turned, dancing around one another like two butterflies on the breeze. Their thin strings entwined precariously. Then, being caught up in a downward current, they both plummeted to the ground, landing in another part of the pasture.
The two girls took off instantly, scurrying after their fallen kites.
*****
The kitten mewed softly. It was gray-- its fur a light dove gray color with darker gray tiger stripes down his back. The tips of his ears and tail were pure white. From the cardboard box in the corner of the hayloft, his "brothers" mewed back in soft replies. They seemed to be speaking to each other, the gray kitten calling out for them, asking where they were, and his siblings replying, demanding to know the same.
A small hand reached down, and set the kitten back down on the hay-covered wooden floor. The kitten immediately toddled away, his brothers' cries leading him back to the box.
The two girls--their hair in pigtails-- scrambled to the box, beating the tiny kit to his home. They freed the others from the box and watched as six little kittens wobbled around the floor, walking over each other in their pursuit of exploration.
Something tickled across Jenny's leg. Reaching out and down, her fingers brushed against the softness of animal fur. Looking, she saw her old cat, Tippers (so named because of the white tips on his ears and tail). Tippers rubbed affectionately against the back of her leg one more time before wandering over to Mike. "Hey there, guy," Mike said, stroking the gray cat's fur.
One of the girls leaned forward, allowing a kitten to swat playfully at her hair. The pigtail swayed a little, teasing the kitten more. He swatted again, with more force, and fell into the little girl's hair.
Across the hayloft, the cry of an adult cat sounded. The mama trotted forward and jumped into the box.
"MEOW!!" she called out when she didn't find her babies. The kittens immediately abandoned their play and stumbled off towards their mother. The box thwarted them, however, as none of them could climb over its tall sides. The girls giggled and began helping the kittens back into the box.
*****
The hayloft was dim but not dark, as random shafts of sunlight streaked the gloom from gaps in the roof above. In the musty, dusty loft, the two little girls labored at their fun, each moving and rearranging bales of hay. First, they pulled a couple of bales out of play; then a few more. Stacking them side-by-side, they formed walls and left gaps on either side for doors.
One girl found some lose twine and stretched it across the top of the bales; her sister gathered loose chaff that they both sprinkled over the twine. A roof was born. The girls repeated the process again and again--eventually rebuilding several of the simple structures to accommodate a network of connecting tunnels.
They burrowed deep into the hay, giggling as they played. Occasionally a cat would sneak into their hayloft city, surprising the girls with his stealth.
Mike cleared his throat, breaking the silence between himself and his wife. "So," he said at last, "what do you think we should do?"
A squeal of laughter rang out, echoing in the dim hayloft. One girl popped out of a hole in her half of the fort. Launching a wad of hay and chaff at her sister, she slipped back down just before a similar missile could hit her. Their playful, laughing taunts could be heard in the barn below them.
*****
Before Jenny could answer her husband's question, their children raced out of the barn and across the road. Tumbling over each other as they came to a stop before their parents, they cried out in unison "May we go over there and pick flowers?" Two pudgy children's hands pointed to the field next to the cow pasture. The daisies were in full bloom and Jenny could hear them calling out to her--and to her children.
Nodding, she watched as her son and daughter raced each other back across the road. They headed across the pasture, picking their way through the high grass and pausing to stand atop a stump whose tree had long ago rotted out. Then they crossed into the field, crawling under the rusty barbed wire. Soon, they ceased to be children, but were colorful dots flitting among the wild flowers. Jenny knew that soon they would return, arms laden with daisies as big as her fists.
She turned to her husband. "I think we should stay," she said.
"Fixing this place up will take a lot of work," Mike told her, but even as he spoke, a shriek of happiness echoed across the field. They looked at each other, and without saying another word, they both agreed.
In the field, one boy and one girl hopped lightly over the tall grass, laughing and unaware that their future had just been decided. The grass tickled their bare legs as they played. The little girl, her long brown hair tied up with a pink “farmer’s handkerchiefs,” stopped before a patch of cheerful daisies. Reaching out, she picked the largest one for her mother, tucking into her shirt before racing off after her brother.
I wrote this short story years ago, but I think it sums up why that farm will always be home to me.
“Days of the Daisy”
by Debbie Chilson
Two girls raced across the open field, hopping lightly over the tall grass and laughing as it tickled their bare legs. They both wore shorts, cut-offs that their mother had done a few days earlier, and t-shirts without sleeves. Their long brown hair was tied back with rubber bands hidden underneath red-with-white-flowered “farmer’s handkerchiefs.” They were smiling and laughing as the played.
Occasionally, they stopped as they made their way through tall grass of the hayfield and gently caught up a flower in their hands. The flowers were white with yellow centers. Some of the white flowers were as big as a fist, while others were quite small. The girls ignored the smaller ones, picking only the biggest and tucking them into bundles inside their shirts, which they held by the hem to carry the flowers as one might cradle a baby in their arms.
Then, laughing, the girls would run some more. The field was big and the sun was still high in the sky…
Jenny sat on the stone porch, gazing out at the hayfield were she used to play as a child. The stones were crumbling and unstable, but she didn’t seemed to notice, as her mind was locked inside the memories…
The sun moved westward in the sky, dipping lower into the trees behind the house on the hill that the girls called home. Their shirts were now full of flowers and they could carry no more. In the distance, they could hear their mother calling. She stood on the stairs behind the barn, where they were sure to see her, waving her hands and gesturing that it was time to come in for the night. The girls clutched their treasures and, following the sound of their mother’s voice, headed back to the barn.
*****
Warm winds blew, whipping long brown hair in front of two pairs of upturned eyes. Small hands gripped cardboard rolls as the strings extending upwards from them tightened and slacked with each strong gust. And high in the air, hovering suspended above the two girls, two colorful diamonds--one red, the other green--swayed, dancing on the breeze.
The girls sat in the middle of the barnyard, perching upon the trunk of an over-turned tree. The wood was already beginning to rot, being eaten internally by myriads of tiny insects. The children, however, did not mind the decay. They only squealed with joy as their kites dipped in the wind.
Their laughter rang out across the pasture, causing several black and white cows to lift their heads, momentarily diverting them from their grassy snack...
The screen door behind Jenny opened and her husband, Mike, stepped off the porch. The squeaky door banged shut as Mike sat beside his wife on the old stone steps. He did not say a word. They both stared across the road to the old barn with its faded red paint and patched roof.
The wind picked up and the red and green diamonds bobbed and spiraled in the sky. The girls--still with eyes upturned--leapt down from their perch and watched their kites with bated breath. The kites twisted and turned, dancing around one another like two butterflies on the breeze. Their thin strings entwined precariously. Then, being caught up in a downward current, they both plummeted to the ground, landing in another part of the pasture.
The two girls took off instantly, scurrying after their fallen kites.
*****
The kitten mewed softly. It was gray-- its fur a light dove gray color with darker gray tiger stripes down his back. The tips of his ears and tail were pure white. From the cardboard box in the corner of the hayloft, his "brothers" mewed back in soft replies. They seemed to be speaking to each other, the gray kitten calling out for them, asking where they were, and his siblings replying, demanding to know the same.
A small hand reached down, and set the kitten back down on the hay-covered wooden floor. The kitten immediately toddled away, his brothers' cries leading him back to the box.
The two girls--their hair in pigtails-- scrambled to the box, beating the tiny kit to his home. They freed the others from the box and watched as six little kittens wobbled around the floor, walking over each other in their pursuit of exploration.
Something tickled across Jenny's leg. Reaching out and down, her fingers brushed against the softness of animal fur. Looking, she saw her old cat, Tippers (so named because of the white tips on his ears and tail). Tippers rubbed affectionately against the back of her leg one more time before wandering over to Mike. "Hey there, guy," Mike said, stroking the gray cat's fur.
One of the girls leaned forward, allowing a kitten to swat playfully at her hair. The pigtail swayed a little, teasing the kitten more. He swatted again, with more force, and fell into the little girl's hair.
Across the hayloft, the cry of an adult cat sounded. The mama trotted forward and jumped into the box.
"MEOW!!" she called out when she didn't find her babies. The kittens immediately abandoned their play and stumbled off towards their mother. The box thwarted them, however, as none of them could climb over its tall sides. The girls giggled and began helping the kittens back into the box.
*****
The hayloft was dim but not dark, as random shafts of sunlight streaked the gloom from gaps in the roof above. In the musty, dusty loft, the two little girls labored at their fun, each moving and rearranging bales of hay. First, they pulled a couple of bales out of play; then a few more. Stacking them side-by-side, they formed walls and left gaps on either side for doors.
One girl found some lose twine and stretched it across the top of the bales; her sister gathered loose chaff that they both sprinkled over the twine. A roof was born. The girls repeated the process again and again--eventually rebuilding several of the simple structures to accommodate a network of connecting tunnels.
They burrowed deep into the hay, giggling as they played. Occasionally a cat would sneak into their hayloft city, surprising the girls with his stealth.
Mike cleared his throat, breaking the silence between himself and his wife. "So," he said at last, "what do you think we should do?"
A squeal of laughter rang out, echoing in the dim hayloft. One girl popped out of a hole in her half of the fort. Launching a wad of hay and chaff at her sister, she slipped back down just before a similar missile could hit her. Their playful, laughing taunts could be heard in the barn below them.
*****
Before Jenny could answer her husband's question, their children raced out of the barn and across the road. Tumbling over each other as they came to a stop before their parents, they cried out in unison "May we go over there and pick flowers?" Two pudgy children's hands pointed to the field next to the cow pasture. The daisies were in full bloom and Jenny could hear them calling out to her--and to her children.
Nodding, she watched as her son and daughter raced each other back across the road. They headed across the pasture, picking their way through the high grass and pausing to stand atop a stump whose tree had long ago rotted out. Then they crossed into the field, crawling under the rusty barbed wire. Soon, they ceased to be children, but were colorful dots flitting among the wild flowers. Jenny knew that soon they would return, arms laden with daisies as big as her fists.
She turned to her husband. "I think we should stay," she said.
"Fixing this place up will take a lot of work," Mike told her, but even as he spoke, a shriek of happiness echoed across the field. They looked at each other, and without saying another word, they both agreed.
In the field, one boy and one girl hopped lightly over the tall grass, laughing and unaware that their future had just been decided. The grass tickled their bare legs as they played. The little girl, her long brown hair tied up with a pink “farmer’s handkerchiefs,” stopped before a patch of cheerful daisies. Reaching out, she picked the largest one for her mother, tucking into her shirt before racing off after her brother.
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