The Long Dirt Road

This is a story I wrote years ago but my recent visit back home has made me want to resurrect it!

The Long Dirt Road by D. Armes-Hartmann

My father's house

Along that long dirt road leading to my father's house, my anticipating thoughts would fly! I'm coming home! My brother and my sister's would be there just as sure as my mother would be in the front picture window waiving as we approached. The smell of pine, the sight of hand-made tree tops and silver tinsel, all precious, but of none, yet extreme value. I can still sense the feeling of flannel pressed against me when my father and brother embraced my welcome and the sweet smell of crisp air and cold cheeks as my sister's would reach out the side door to pull me into the warmth of the house. We would all fold each other up in embraces, kisses and smiles and the children acted like they just saw you yesterday, as if time were merely what you spent together, not apart.

Under the safe blanket of my father's house, I would take quiet notice of my surroundings, inside and out. The glow of the old colored bulbs on the tree and how their mere presence would stop you and bring a moment of silence. The tinsel that twizzled by any movement of the air and made it look as if the lights had tripled and danced all on their own! The old handmade foil star that perched itself, yet leaning to the right, at the top of the tree as if saying, "I may be old, but I'm still here and God will be glorified as long as I am!" Outside, the brush cut hedges lined the driveway as if still saluting our arrival. The trees standing bare and solemn, wishing only that their holiday guests could see them when they flourished as green as my inherited eyes in the spring! Their branches would stretch wide after their winter's sleep and arch a calm shade for us to drink lemonade under all summer. And the mystical, beautiful moon, that laid it's lavender sheen of light over the sparkling untouched sheet of snow that covered our hills, boasting colors that didn't even exist!

Me as a baby in front of our Christmas tree.

Home...we were all together...safe, loved, warm. Moments connecting together and emerging like hot popped kernels of corn being collected in a bowl of eternal memories. Memories that would live in our hearts and comfort us no matter where we traveled or resided. What my father's house gave us at Christmas was not plastic gifts or bikes that couldn't be rode till summer, but heart treasures! Like a mirrored mobile that twists and turns with the wind, catching the sun every so often and shooting a blazing light straight to your soul. Those moments would twinkle in our hearts like the colored tree lights against the tinsel and like a projector on a blank screen they would replay all the love and laughter that dwelt in that home at Christmas time. All pettiness and busyness stopped when we turned into that long driveway that led to my father's house, it was like a slice of pie, sweet, special and appreciated. Along that long dirt road leading to my father's house....my warm treasured memories still fly!