I went home

And they say you can't go back.

Well I did, but of course everything was different.

After talking it over with myself, over and over again, I hopped in my trusty old Honda, and headed home.

Just a gorgeous day as you can see from my pictures. Sunny and cool.

I wasn't feeling any huge sense of guilt for not plugging away here at the never ending planting schedule. My clay was just too darn wet after the torrential downpour of Saturday night.

I checked in with the Bogles, who are now renting the land at my old family farm. They are in the bird seed business and have it all planted to sunflowers this year. Then over I went, taking a deep breath, and heading in the driveway. Chills. Really.

The house and barn are...rough.

The renter who lived there was a slob, not caring at all that he ruined the house. His landlord, the "developer" didn't care either.

But the land is gorgeous. That is the BEST soil in the world. My dad always said it was prime market garden soil, and he was right. Not too light like some of the sandy soils down here.

Makes me wonder why the hell I work so hard on this clay here. I'd think I'd died and gone to heaven if I had soil like that.

I walked through the fields. Back the long lane to where my mom's garden was. And still sort of is.

My mom's grafted apple trees, huge and tall and one of her rhubarb plants still chugging along in the shade. Some of her herbs still fragrant.
I laughed when I saw the stones in the field. When I was a kid, we would come home from school in the spring and pick stones. My dad had an old Massey that pulled an old wooden wagon with steel wheels, and the 5 of us would go all over that farm and toss stones in it.

I couldn't figure out why every year there were more, and larger stones. My dad's response to that was that every year the small ones grew bigger. Well....for a long many years I was good with that response, until one year it struck me that stones don't grow. Dad!

My parents are both gone now. Actually the day I went up to the farm was the 13th anniversary of my dad's passing.

So I was weepy on and off all day. I love my parents and I am a pretty emotional person.

But walking around the farm, so much came back to me. The fields where I ran with my dog, Pacer. The hill up to the house where my sister "Muff" crashed my mini-bike into the sunroom storm door.

I even walked behind the house, and..weird...ducked to go under my mom's clothes line-which of course, isn't there anymore.

The best place in the world, with the

best memories.

It ended up being a bit of a fact finding mission too.

Much like our property here on the Welland River, because of the creeks on the farm the conservation authority is involved...perhaps in charge?

The Bogles told me that the property can NEVER be developed because of this and my sister tells me my dad knew this too. So the owner, who lives in California is trying to unload it because he now knows this too.

Because the potential for development quite simply isn't there, and the rundown condition of the house and barns, the asking price is way out of touch with reality.

So I'm going to keep my eye on things.

But I think regardless, I'll still have to buy that lottery ticket.

It is priceless.

As are the memories.