Edgar Guest, the poet laureate of the common folk in the first half of the last century, said it best in his sentimental verse: “It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home, a heap of sun an’ shadder …. It ain’t home t’ ye … until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped round everything.”
Early this month we left our home of the last 25 years to move a mile away to another house which is in one of those age-restricted communities. This columnist finally has approached the same age of those old characters whom he often portrays, but it was flattering when the community manager requested proof of age. In time, the new house surely will become a home, but in the meantime it does require a “heap o’ livin’.”
Fred Anderson
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We experienced a mighty heap at the former residence. We moved there when our sons were in high school and watched them leave the nest and fly off to college. In time, there were daughters-in-law to welcome and six little ones who joined the family circle. Indeed it has been the little ones who were most vocal in the decision of their grandparents to move. “Why?” they kept asking as they realized that their grandparents were leaving the only place they had ever associated with them. The youngest grandson seemed more concerned about leaving behind a box turtle who had taken refuge in our pond.
Even the little pond had a story. When our sons were teenagers, the area was their basketball court. The dirt became as packed as if it were concrete. We were more concerned with rearing sons than growing grass; but when they left home, we hinted that we would like to turn the basketball court into a patio. Those basketball players returned and jackhammered the dirt, put in slate, and dug out a hole for a small fishpond.
“Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute; afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a heap o’ livin’ in it.”
I grew up in one of those old homeplaces in which members of my family were born, married and died. On one of the door frames there were the marks when the children were measured for their growth. The threshold board was worn from all the feet that had passed through the front door. It was a sanctuary for generations. It was full of family keepsakes that had “grown into yer heart.”
Our former home in Glen Allen did not have such great age but nonetheless it had witnessed “a heap o’ livin’.” We could look around the rooms and remember family and friends who had visited across the years. The circle of friends is ever widening. Many are or have been denominational folks. We remember a seminary professor who brought her class of Bible translators from around the world and among those guests was the great-grandson of a Pacific island cannibal! We remember a dear friend — Alma Hunt herself — who always enjoyed entertaining; and when she was no longer able to host a party, we offered our house for her party and she gave us her guest list.
On one of the last weekends before the move, we had one last party. Surveying the scene of packed boxes lining the walls, one of the wittiest of guests declared that he had never been to an eviction party. Some of those guests had been to our home on Christmas mornings when, like us, they would have been all alone on Christmas morning.
Of course my wife remembers the visits of her father who made the kitchen table around which we all gather, and thankfully the table has found new service at our son’s home. The blue plates on the kitchen wall were a gift from a dear friend and the plates and the memories have gone to our new house. Some of the bulb plants in the yard were gifts from friends and these plants had to remain behind. When they come back next spring and summer, the new owners will enjoy the surprise, but they will never be able to associate them with the faces of our friends.
When the books in my study were packed, a friend called over a weekend with a Baptist history question. She had to wait until Monday to get the answer. “Wait until the Historical Society opens,” was the reply. “My library is all in boxes.” I did not dare reveal that the Baptist books were securely packed in liquor boxes! They make the best packing boxes — sturdy and small. For a month or more we were frequent visitors to the ABC store where the clerks gladly give away empty boxes.
And as for my little library, we have packed and toted many issues of the Religious Herald and old annuals of the General Association as well as some choice titles of Baptist books which have become tools of my trade.
We remember times of laughter and joy as well as sadness. When my wife’s sister was dying in a distant city, our sons worked in the darkness to plant a memorial garden which would be in place when my wife returned. They even ran extension cords so they could complete the planting. Our pastor came and blessed the spot. We have heard that the plants in a memorial garden always grow and certainly the ones in Mona’s Garden always looked good. We could not take the garden, but we could take the memory.
We also could not take the neighbors with us. We have had exceptional neighbors. They have kept keys to the house. They have saved our mail and newspapers. They have listened to our troubles and laughed at our stories. And while we could not take them, we have not lost them. We have managed to maintain friendships with former neighbors from all of our earlier neighborhoods and surely these neighbors will remain in our hearts.
When we almost were through with the moving, our oldest granddaughter, Cassidy, was walking about taking photographs of the empty rooms and she was crying. It was time to gather the family into a circle and have what my wife called a closing ceremony. We said a prayer of thanksgiving for the sanctuary which the house had been and to ask blessings for the next family which would call it home. We asked for blessings, too, upon us all, each and everyone, and for the new homes which have come about by our sons and daughters-in-law. They, too, will in time know “a heap o’ livin’.”
Fred Anderson ([email protected]) is executive director of the Virginia Baptist Historical Society and the Center for Baptist Heritage and Studies.