Walk the lane with me one more time. I’ll hold your hand, and you hold mine. We will share the memories of another time. Please walk the lane with me one more time.
A sweet neighbor posted the grave marker of her parents. I sat looking at it with tears streaming down my cheeks. Dolores and Carl Bucholtz were more than neighbors. They were our Neff Road family. Carl farmed with Dad, so heard his tractor or truck often coming back the lane. When we held the farm sale, Carl sat with me by the big, white barn. He told me that he did not think he would beat this cancer that he was battling. We had lost Dad, and now his tools were being sold. It was the end of our farming, one that Carl was so much a part of. I held his hand knowing that I was not only losing the things that surrounded me in my growing up, but I was losing a dear friend.
That lane on Neff Road had seen many who returned again and again. The house back that lane seemed to be a beacon of love. Warm loving arms always welcomed whoever came through the back door. There was always time to sit and talk, even when work was calling. We stopped for friends and family. And sometimes for people we didn’t know. Dad would stop working in the field when he saw a car in the driveway. The lane brought us together. And, even in parting, we held dear those it brought to us.
I often think of that lane. Our families walked it each time they came home. From the house to the bridge and back, or maybe we wandered off to visit Lavy’s or Stager’s. The lane represented our family. A trip to loving arms and loved land.
We live lives in transition. We go from there to here in the blink of an eye. We either embrace the new, bringing a newness in ourselves, or we lose precious time hanging back. Over the years, I have found that what I learned on the farm, back that lane, has brought old friends back into my life and new friends to continue new journeys with me. The link from the past to the future. From the road to the house.
When my mother passed, I asked friends and family to send their favorite memories of my beautiful mother. I came across those letters again as I packed to move. They are memories from the past that have traveled to the future, allowing me to see new visions of this mother who rarely shared about herself. She was always too busy asking about others. I think everyone should ask for those memories when a loved one passes. A bridge from one time to another.
Walk the lane with me one more time. I’ll hold your hand, and you hold mine. We will share the memories of another time. Please walk the lane with me one more time.
