A few days ago I took a family history road trip with my sister and my cousin.  We went to see the home farm where my grandparents raised three children: my two uncles and my mother.  How I wish I could have put on a pair of magic glasses that would have allowed me to see that household in 1931: my mom as a 9 year old playing in the front yard, my uncles as teenagers working in the barn, my grandmother baking bread in the kitchen, my grandfather hitching up the horses….

If these walls could talk…..

would they say…

Your grandpa opened this barn door every morning….

Your mother brought sugar cubes to the horses in this stall….

These hinges would squeak when your uncle opened the stable door….

Bonnie and Bessie nickered at your grandpa when he walked in the barn….

Your mother skipped up these steps to play in the hay mow….

Your Grandpa’s strong hands pulled the door closed and latched the hook….

Your grandmother walked to the milk house with kittens on her heels….

The three kids ran in and out of the house, slamming the “Christian” doors —

the panels created a cross and the bottom represented an open Bible….

Your mother came down this staircase on her wedding day….

That’s what I heard the walls say….