Returning Home

A young man was walking down a dirt road and looking out over the fields. He was smoking a cigarette, and wearing a brown leather jacket that his father had given him, he was starting up towards the sky.

The sky looked as though it were on fire, a bright red glow was coming across and it made the stripped clouds look like they were being strained and evaporated by the sky fire. It followed this expanse until the other edge of the sky, where the stars were already starting to announce themselves.

It was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen in his entire life. Never before, never again.

He looked back at the farm. The family farm, the farm that was now his. His uncle had left it to him. Although, the land technically was no longer his, the house, still was. And an acre. An acre to have fun with, was what his uncle had put in the will.

He looked back at the house and saw that it had fallen to shambles. No one's fault but his. His uncle had died ten years ago, and no one had been to the house since. Not until today. Now as he came looked back at the house, so much of him wanted to settle back into a life that had been left for him all those years ago. The life that was his families life.

It was hard and sad coming home for him. A farm wasn't a farm to him, or a home away from home for him, without his grandfather chuckling at each small joke he could make. Without his grandmother fussing and harassing everyone. Over each little thing that she could.

This place was dead.

That time was gone. He had no hope of living their kind of life anymore. He had to go back to the city, he had to live his life there. And this would be his last time coming back here.

As children, him and his brothers raced tractors. As adults, they never came to the farm. Stories could be told about the summer visits until the end of time however. A joy from childhood had been fulfilled in this place. Something that he could only hope he could give to his own children one day.

There was no longer any hope of that.

To think that something that had had so much life, love and effort put into it, was allowed to die, without as much of a cry from anyone. Makes one disgusted with the harsh cruelties of time. No tears were shed. It was as if nothing had been lost at all.

When the family farm started to die out, the response from the world was predominantly:

“That's the how it goes. Time's change.”

It didn't matter that this was, in fact, not how things go. And, the last time that family farms were hit like this it was considered one of the worst times for common people in history. Now the final nail in the coffin had happened. Now there were no farmers, only farmhands. Working for massive corporations that owned the land.

For years the market had been cheating farmers. Inflation was one cause. Corruption was likely an other. Not that it mattered anymore. It was too late.

Turning away from the house, the young man looked out at the sunset again, fell to his knees on the dirt and wept. His tears turning to mud in the dirt.

-------------------------------------------

Years later, an old man walked up the dirt road. Behind him, was his family. His three children, all now with children of their own. Running and playing. His two eldest boys and his youngest daughter, and his three grandkids. He was lucky, most men his age, didn't have grandchildren, and never would.

Throughout the day, as they had a picnic, the old man told his children and grandchildren all about what used to be here, that this is where they came from. And showed them, and old house, that he had spent his life savings on remodelling.

He showed them that this was where he was going to spend the rest of his life. That this was where he would die. And that they would all be welcome there, because it was as much their house as it was his as far as he was concerned. The family farm, had become the family farm house. And that was good enough.

His own children, thought him insane, for leaving the city, for leaving his job. They thought that he had gone crazy ever since his wife, their mother, had died. They were ranting and raving at him, although they were ranting at him out of love, he could only see their ignorance, and he was embarrassed that this was happening in front of his grandchildren. So he told the three grandkids to go to the back of the house.

Behind the house. There were three tractors. Little ones.

He sent the kids to the tractors and let them drive around the back yard, and to race each other around the barn until the tractors were out of gas.

When his own children saw this, they became kids in their own way again. They had never driven tractors before, and they filled up the tanks and raced them as well.

They raced the tractors until the sun was almost set. And a fire came over the sky.

The old man walked up the dirt road, lit a cigarette, looked up at the clouds that looked like they were on fire. Covering the whole expanse of the sky, until where the stars were just beginning to announce themselves.

He felt pure joy. He felt as if he had done his best to honour his family. He had given them his memories. He had given them his life.

He dropped to his knees and he wept. His tears turning to mud in the dirt. His family by his side.