More Than a House

It had been years since I had been to the house.  The tires of my truck crunched while compacting the snow on the almost invisible dirt driveway.  Seeing this place filled my mind with memories.  I had spent the summers working for Mr. and Mrs. Smith while I was in high school.  The work was hard but the Smiths also were such sweet people.  They treated me like I was their son.  A smile covered my face when I remembered the time I scared my little brother the first time he had to use the outhouse (See SNAKES).  Yes, this old place held a lot of memories.  It was here that I learned strong work ethics, the importance of Sunday worship, that reading spurred the imagination so much better than television, and that a cup of coffee and good conversation was the best way to end dinner.

So, I was surprised when I received the message from a lawyer.  His voice sounded urgent so I called him back immediately.  He explained that Mr. Smith had passed away about five years earlier and Mrs. Smith had to be moved into a state-operated nursing home.  Before Mr. Smith had died, they had put all their meager assets in a trust.  Now that Mrs. Smith had passed away, the remaining assets in the trust were to come to me.  All that was left was about five acres of land and the old house.  Everything else had been sold off to provide for Mrs. Smith’s care.

I was shocked.  I knew that the Smiths had no children but I would have never expected that they would leave their house to me.  I made an appointment to sit down with the lawyer and sign the necessary paperwork.  So today, for the first time in so many years, I was once again driving down their driveway.  I almost expected to see them come running out to welcome me as I smelled the scent of fresh-baked apple pie escaping from the open kitchen window.

I shut the engine off and just looked at the old homestead.  All of the windows had been broken and the door was standing open as if to welcome the snow.  A stray cat suddenly emerged and ran up the rise to hide behind the outhouse.  I could just imagine all the work that needed to be done but hard work was always expected at this place.  I grabbed my toolbox from the passenger seat and exited the truck.  I walked to the open door and took a quick look around.  “First things first,” I could hear Mr. Smith saying as I set the toolbox on the floor.

I was speaking to myself but hearing my voice fill the room reminded me of sitting at the end of the day and planning the next day’s schedule with Mr. Smith.  And that was when it hit me.  Not only would I fix this place up, but this was where I needed to settle…because this was more than a house, this was a home.