That Big Red House

As soon as we're on the long, winding country highway I know it's getting closer. Shortly after, when we cross the bridge into the small town, the excitement is heightened, only a few more miles.

If you pass through that little town and continue past a few farms, you'll drive up a small hill. As you climb that hill it comes into view. A country road leading into the distance off to the right. A big red house just off that road. A huge backyard. No fence. Flowers, trees, bushes. Turn onto that road. Take a left into the second driveway. Hear the gravel under the tires. See the tree house leaning from all the years of children playing on it. See the beat up basketball hoop, the rose bushes and the vegetable garden. See the empty chicken coop and the field beyond.

But now the mounting excitement is reduced to confusion when we turn off before reaching that country road. That's when realization dawns, she doesn't live in that house anymore. My heart aches driving down this new road as old memories replay themselves in my head. The red house I remember? That was my grandparent's house. The little white house we're going to now? That is my grandma's house.

Honestly, driving down this new road is heart wrenching. It only takes a couple of minutes to reach my grandma's house but in that short time everything that has changed flashes through my mind. My grandpa passed away two years ago and my grandma now lives in this little white house.

I'm happy that my grandma has this cute little house to live in now, without having to worry about taking care of acreage. And I'll have sweet memories of visiting her there. But these new memories will be far different from those of the little girl exploring the big red house and the land surrounding it. These memories will be those of a teenage girl who will always feel something is missing in that little town.

While in Oregon last week, we went to visit my grandpa's grave and on the way back to the little white house my grandma asked if we wanted to drive past the old red house. We ended up not going and I'm thankful for that because my grandma told us how it has changed. Now there's a fence surrounding the open yard that I used to play in. I can't even remember what else she mentioned being changed because that first one hit me so hard.

The image of the big red house coming into view as we climb that hill is ingrained in my mind and I don't want it taken away by the now fence-obscured view of the house. Because that image? That's the place I'll always see when I think of my grandparent's little town in Oregon.