Thirty-two years ago we moved a farmhouse from its city lot to our acreage in the country. Extensive renovations followed including a gutting of and complete rebuilding of the kitchen. We battled the mice, spiders, occasional snake and even a scorpion for possession of the building. We cleared brush, thinned trees and built gardens.
Then came a period of self-sufficiency, like all 'back-to-the-landers' of that period, when a parade of chickens, rabbits, ducks, turkeys and even a pig that was a FFA project of our high school son passed through our lives.
We planted a stand of pine seedlings that now tower overhead. Recently we hired loggers to harvest the marketable hardwood trees, a hard but necessary decision to make.
As the years slip past, we find our stamina isn't what it used to be. Two winters ago, we exchanged our wood-burning stove for a propane heater because my husband couldn't maintain the need for firewood any more.
To me, the little farmhouse is just a part of our home here in piney East Texas. Home encompasses the land, the area, the state.
So, what makes a house a home? I don't really have an answer. Would like to hear from my readers about that.
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