the outside wall of my vintage shop for years. No longer useful,
or so I thought..........but full of rustic patina.
This week, I have noticed a large billed bird........who
always sings a lovely song........
flying in and out of this worn out container.
After she flew off for a few moments.......I took a closer
look .....to find that she has stuffed it very full of twigs and sticks
and has made herself a comfy nest.
She reminds me so much of how I felt about
our little house in town when we were first married.
It was on a corner lot..........on a busy street that
growled and grumbled all day.........and all night
with traffic and scary neighborhood noises.
It was in an "extreme fixer up" state with
much needed attention......which we never seemed to
have enough money, enough time and never enough know how
to be able to fix.
Still.........it was our first home.........and
all of our children spent a large part of their childhood
there.
The floors were crawled on, ran on, stomped on, and spilt on.
The worn out screen door was slammed in times of hurriedness,
in times of stormy weather and in times of upset.
The walls heard our laughter.......our worries, our prayers.
As worn out as it was...........with a little stick here,
and a little fluff there..........
it was home.
We had a happy, sweet life in it.
When we moved out here to our country home
I felt as if we were abandoning an old friend when
we left the little house on the corner lot in town.
How about you?
What was your first home like?
I would love to hear!
