Gardening, feeding the chickens, playing with kittens, and sleepovers with cousins. These are the memories of my childhood. Spending, almost every day, with my grandparents. Drinking coffee, at age 5, with my grandfather, before school. Watching my grandmother cook dinner in the kitchen.
That is what I remember when I look at my grandparents’ home. Spending summers with my cousins. Cookouts or a fish fry. Picking sunflower seeds and hiding in the corn fields.
The pictures below show what’s left. A dilapidated house, no longer a home. Remnants, of what used to be, a home filled with kids and family. No longer is the yellow chicken coop filled with baby chicks. No more gathering eggs, in the morning. The grape vines and plum trees are barren. Weeds have taken over the garden. Wild dogs now roam in the old house.
A sense of sadness surrounds the property. The only signs of life are the wild mushrooms, growing on, what used to be, my Aunt’s mattress. The laughter is gone, the kids are grow, and everyone has moved on.