My college / post graduation apartment, or my “home away from home” becomes my “home” tomorrow.
After eighteen years, my family and I are parting ways with my childhood home.
When I was nearly four years old, we moved from one neighboring county to another. My parents had been persistently trying to have another kid, but they didn’t have any luck until after they signed for a two bedroom house in Pendleton.
Growing up, I had to share a room with my little brother until I was sixteen years old. I wanted to kill him most of the time. We fought, we argued, we screamed and cried just as often as we stayed up talking until my dad had to come in and tell us to be quiet and go to sleep. We did this even after I moved out of the room. He wouldn’t turn the TV down one night, so I came in and slapped him across the face, as a true sibling does. He chased me down the hallway and all the way to the front door until his pants fell down. Thank God this happened, because I would not be here today if it didn’t. We laughed it off and went to bed, after I asked him again to turn the TV down.
After eighteen years, my family and I are parting ways with my childhood home.
When I was nearly four years old, we moved from one neighboring county to another. My parents had been persistently trying to have another kid, but they didn’t have any luck until after they signed for a two bedroom house in Pendleton.
Growing up, I had to share a room with my little brother until I was sixteen years old. I wanted to kill him most of the time. We fought, we argued, we screamed and cried just as often as we stayed up talking until my dad had to come in and tell us to be quiet and go to sleep. We did this even after I moved out of the room. He wouldn’t turn the TV down one night, so I came in and slapped him across the face, as a true sibling does. He chased me down the hallway and all the way to the front door until his pants fell down. Thank God this happened, because I would not be here today if it didn’t. We laughed it off and went to bed, after I asked him again to turn the TV down.
My house has always had blue shutters and white paneling. That is something that we never changed. White houses, from what I can imagine, are hard to keep up with. The weathering on the outside was always something I was embarrassed about, but as I’ve grown up and had my fair share of residencies, I have realized that a lived-in and loved house isn’t always one of the more pristine one.
My family has valued spending a lot of time together, and keeping up with maintaining a perfect household always fell slightly behind keeping up with each other. Looking back on how ashamed I was that my home wasn’t ready to be in a magazine is more embarrassing than what I imagined the house to be. This house of ours saw so many parties, get-togethers, overnights, bonfires, friends, and family, that a little wear-and-tear on the outside seems endearing.
When I was a teenager, we built a chicken coop in the backyard, right next to our porch, where we raised over twelve pet chickens. Some of them made it to old age, and others got picked off by hawks. That’s just the way of life. They were some of the best pets we had because they were easy to get along with and they provided breakfast. Once they all died, we didn’t know what to do with the coop, so we watched nature take it back over. It’s beautiful to see how powerful nature is, but it also carries a lot of weight with it.
My parents were smart, and made sure their kids grew up with room to run around on almost two acres of land. We had a barn, a garage, a carport, and so many beautiful trees. Lucky for us, the tree closest to the house was completely dead all the way through and was just supported by its outer layer. When my brother and I were younger, we were able to stand in the hollowed out shell that would have been considered a trunk. One harsh gust of wind stood between the house and this tree, and that gust didn’t arrive while we lived there.
One of the characteristics I got from my father was my love of climbing these trees. As a little girl, I climbed every single tree I could get onto. Every time I thought I had gotten myself into a position where I wouldn’t be able to get down without help, both my mom and my dad said the same exact thing to me: “If you can get yourself up there, you can get yourself down”. And I did. Every tree I got into, I got myself out of as well. A personal favorite tree to climb was the “fat” apple tree next to the “skinny” apple tree. Its trunk twisted into stairs and a lounge area, perfect for my tiny self. I’ll admit it, I definitely squeezed myself into the chair-like space long after I could fit comfortably.
That same tree is where our family wiener dog, Nautti, is buried. She lived with us for over nine years, and had to be put down because of her health. She used to have a plant under the tree as her headstone, but as soon as we knew we were going to have to part ways with our home of eighteen years, it died, along with the apple trees, both the fat and skinny one, my mom’s plum tree named Fiona, her nectarine tree named Nicki, and even the hollowed out tree seemed a little more dead.
The “grassy knoll”, as we Westbrook’s call it, was the biggest hill in our yard, which was the main stage for our famous 4th of July parties, and also home to one of the biggest trees on our property. An intimidating sycamore tree stood at the very top as if it was meant to have the highest vantage point possible. It provided shade, kindling for fires, and was a convenient fifteen feet away from our fire pit.
Our 4th of July parties were not only a tradition for us, but also for so many of our friends and family members. My dad would grill, the kids would play with whatever yard toys they could find, the adults would drink, and everyone would enjoy the radio in the barn and fireworks at the end of the night. A lot of people camped over (especially after drinking), and my brother and I would invite as many friends over as we could. In the morning, after the fireworks, my brother and I would battle over the cool firework wrapping paper and trade with it and banter with it like it was gold. My friends and I, being older, tried to steal all of my brother’s stash after finding in piled up on a couch in the barn, but he was always bigger, so he chased us away. I looked forward to the 4th because I knew what to expect, and when I got older and started hanging out with adults more, I quickly came to the realization that some of the people that attended didn’t have the same family dynamic that my family did, and they loved how close we were and how much we loved each other.
The day after my family and I say our final goodbye to our home of eighteen years is the 4th of July.