Nothing Lasts Forever
On my last trip up north to the home my great grandfather built, and my mom now lives in, I took an unexpected stroll around the property and found myself once again amidst a few life lessons.
One hour and fifty minutes due north of where we live in the cities, is a diverse 50 acres teaming with wild flowers and wild animals. On the property are 5 buildings, including a house, all built by my great father. The house, which was originally a cabin, is two levels with a large family room and brick fireplace.
The barn was once a place to listen to music and play cards on the upper level, with two garage stalls below. Its red paint and wooden walls are showing their age.
Next to the barn is a woodshed, and next to that is the pole barn where grandpa’s tractor used to be stored. Finally, the wood shop, where grandpa would build birdhouses, bridges, deer feeders and hundreds of other furnishings. Behind these buildings was another long, narrow and low-roofed shed where the snowmobiles were kept, but that collapsed under the snow a few years ago.
On this particular weekend, we planned a somewhat last-minute trip to hunt muzzleloader season which was still open. We had seen some bucks on the trail cam, and after having an unsuccessful rifle season, we figured it was worth some more time in the woods.
Saturday morning began with a peaceful and bright sunrise; the perfect motivation to haul in a few loads of wood. I pulled on my fur boots and dawned a knitted hat before pulling the radio flyer wagon over the door threshold and set across the driveway to the wood shed. After bringing a couple loads in I took a deep breath and admired the quiet, cold air. I was drawn to the back of the barn, where some dead trees still stand and observed the ones I would chop down in the spring.
This part of the yard has always been of fascination to me. The way the trees are planted in a boarder, mowed neatly in between, with a field to the east and a grape trellis on the far north edge. It is like a private grove where I’d run as a little girl and couldn’t be seen from the house.
I made my way under some branches and through some tall grass to peak around the old snowmobile shed. Its tin roof collapsed perfectly down the center, with both sides folded inward. There was a big wheel, which I spotted from afar and hoped I could set free, but that turned out to not be a safe idea.
Taking my time to notice the construction of what once stood here, I admired the work my great grandpa did. He really was a skilled craftsman, and I get the pleasure of admiring that every time I visit.
There was another toddler bike, some boards, a couple jars of screws, and a saucer sled frozen into the floor by the snow and ice of this season.
The snowmobile shed was, I believe, the last to be built and the first to fall.
It makes me think deeply of the materials we use to build, and the effort it takes to build something that will last. And no matter the materials or effort, nothing lasts forever.
This property has played a monumental role in shaping my character; helping me to slow down and appreciate what family does for each other. Not only that, but what a family does when they choose to put roots down, live a resourceful lifestyle, and build upon the things they’re passionate about.
Since nothing lasts forever, I try my very best to admire what is here today. Who made it, how it got here, what it’s for… the lesson I learn time and time again when visiting my great-grandparents is: be present.