Home IT\'s a Dirt Road

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It's a dirt road that ends in a cul-de-sac. A green sign says "Road Ends" just before you reach the drive-way. The drive way curves down around the trees into the woods and suddenly, there's the house! It is a green house, a rather ordinary three-bedroom ranch style built in the '70s, but my father always says, it is "prettiest place." The yard is shady because of the forest, and the plants are the kind that don't need sun -- like the hosta growing around the base of the big tree by the swing. In the swing is a cat, a striped tabby my sister found in Washington, D.C. In a garbage can when he was only about three weeks old. She rescued him and named him Oscar and eventually when she got stationed in Korea, she brought him here to live. He loves the swing. It is an old-fashioned three-seater with cusions where you can read a book, sip lemonade, and pet the cat in the summer. When you sit in the swing you can see the bleeding hearts that are growing all over that end of the house. Grass doesn't do too well because it can't get enough sun, and my mother has always wanted to plant ground cover instead, but my father insists he must have a lawn. A couple years ago, after he had a stroke, my mother bought him a riding lawn mower because he loves to cut the grass. The green lawnmower is always by the side of the house near the back door. It has a little wagon hitched to carry leaves. My father puts the garbage in it and rides it to the dumpster.

The inside is always a surprise to people. My father built bookshelves for my mother that cover the whole long wall of the living room. They are packed with books on every imaginable topic. Mother complains that books have taken over the house. Every room has a bookcase. She gives away about 100 a year but still they are everywhere -- the ones she is currently reading on the tables, floor, and couch. The wood-stove in the corner has fire in it almost all year round, so if it's chilly and you come indoors, you immediately get this radiant heat and bouncing light that moves about the room as the fire dances. The furniture is old, rather tattered, and comfortable. The carpeting is faded and worn. Old toys -- puzzles and blocks, tractors, cars, and a Tonka loader -- lie in the corners waiting for grandchildren to come play with them. Mother has made a chicken stew with dumplings, and the smell makes your stomach suddenly feel empty. My dad is watching a game and you can hear my mother singing "Everlasting Arms of Love" in the kitchen. The table is set for dinner.