My grandparents are among those who can be labeled as “better off.” The home they used to live in was considered a magical and beautiful place to me. Their property in Barrington, Il stretched out across five acres of land. They owned a huge house along with a farm full of animals, a grazing pasture, a magnificent garden, a pool, and lake. Living in Lincoln Park, the visits to my grandparents rural home was a special escape for my family and me.
No matter my age, I was always allowed to roam carefree about the property. I jumped into the pool on hot summer days, and fished with my grandfather squealing as I wrapped worms around hooks. I picked herbs and vegetables for my grandmother, often going out of my way for the best looking specimens. I loved the sound of my feet crunching onto the gravel as I ran down the hillside to visit the barn. Despite the pestering I always received, I constantly would just stand on the pathway drawing out thick lines with my feet until I saw dirt under the gray stones. In the barn I would spend hours whistling to the shy sheep who never gave me the time of day, picking up eggs from the chicken coop, and feeding the goats extra food from the palms of my hands, laughing at the slime of their tongues. When I grew tired of the animals, I pretended to be Tarzan, trying desperately to swing from the branches of the enormous weeping willow tree by the water. Usually after a big fall, I would lie still on the ground breathing in the fresh air, and gaze out onto the lake where the swans swam elegant and proud.
I was my truest self at my grandparent’s house. I basked in the alone time I received when I was there. It was free of all prior misunderstandings and bad memories. When I went out to Barrington with my sister and mom, it was as if something was lifted off our shoulders. The constant arguments about grades, money, and my father didn’t exist in that place, only the essence of nature. I felt as if the purification when I was there had no comparison to the sermons I heard preached to me everyday. Three years ago when my grandparents sold the property for a smaller and more manageable house, I was devastated. The new owners ripped up the gardens, tore down the barn, and removed the bare ground, replacing it with basketball and tennis courts. Although I cannot revisit the place now, I relish in my childhood memories there. My grandparents’ estate was truly the most beautiful place in the world.
words: 451
No comments:
Post a Comment