Once upon a time there was a little house. The house was stout and sturdy. He took great pride in protecting his little family from the elements and was a peaceful haven with low ceilings and a piping hot wood stove. He kept things cozy as the mother crocheted beautiful blankets and worked on her treadle sewing machine. The father repaired saddles and all sorts of leatherwork. Some in town remember getting their shoes resoled before school; some remember getting their tack repaired.
The house was sad when they passed on to the next world. He held tightly to their things and never let a drop from the elements come inside to ruin Mother and Father’s precious things. House began to grow tired. His welcoming porch began to weather and windows were broken and cracked. He went to sleep for a long winter’s nap.
Six winters and six moons passed when the house heard sounds from outside. It was laughter and dreaming coming from a younger Mother and Father. She wanted to do her crocheting in front of the warming wood stove and Father wanted to get plenty of wood chopped for it. Mother would make medicines from the plants that struggled to grown on the dry ground. The trees that had given up stood up straighter with strength and hope and listened.
The grand Cedar knew the new mother was coming and the trees and plants and the old house discussed. A child would be coming to play in their branches. Chickens would be roaming the yard. Folks from town would be coming to the old leather shop to seek help from the plants, and the house would be filled with laughter and family again. Oh, the house was so happy and opened its arms and waited.
(We close on the house Thursday!)