When I was little, Nana and I used to make jam and pie and anything else we could think of. So today, I was feeling down and kind of lost, so I went for a long walk all over this farm and looked for blackberries. I picked enough for a big pie and then got to work in the kitchen. This house used to be Nana's house, and while I was working, I could almost see her, all four feet eleven inches of her, on the other side of the kitchen cleaning the berries, or shaping the lattice dough. I remembered how she would leave a trail of berry juice on the counter, and how we would giggle about the dumbest things, or eat more than we cooked. It was a great memory, but it left me missing her more than anything.
Sometimes you just can't get over it, you know? Everything reminds you of a good thing, but then the good thing reminds you that it isn't a part of your life any more... just a memory. Like Nana. And that hurst.
A homegrown heart is one that longs to sleep with the windows open. One that longs to smell the fresh cut fields, Ride in the afternoon - bareback, and barfoot. A homegrown heart likes to turn the music up, grow something, talk to God and wear boots, because they are better. These hearts go fishing, play with dogs and play with horses. Homegrown hearts give it their all, everytime. They are true to themselves, and true to those around them. They have deep roots. But more important, a homegrown heart LOVES WITH ALL ITS STRENGTH.
About Me
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- Elizabeth
- Stive for the simple, the lovely, the beautiful. Find God in everything. Cherish home. Be patriotic. Wear boots, jeans, and belt buckles. Love with your whole heart, especially when it's homegrown.
Followers
