Spring is the perfect time for new beginnings and a fresh start! I’m living proof of that. Just a year ago, on this very date, April 23, 2020, as a ravaged and tired widow, I turned the key and walked into my new life. Winterpast became my home, rented for one week before the deal closed and she became mine.
For those of you that are new readers, my home is named Winterpast for very important reasons. This name was taken from the bible, Song of Solomon, 10-14. It needs no more explanation that that, because, she always has been Winterpast. No one knew it before, even though it was obvious.
Winterpast was glowing as I entered. Her grieving sellers had put all the love they had into her appearance. Everything worked like it should and was waiting for me on that morning, bright and early. I’d driven off the mountain and across the high desert to her waiting walls. Nervous and scared, as I walked in, I was in a heavy widow’s fog. It had been less than a month since VST’s passing, and I was wrecked emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually. A fragile and haggered woman I was as I entered the front door.
I felt her hug around me, like a favorite sweater. Her comfort whispered, “I will keep you safe, warm, and dry. You can cry here. You can rejoice here. Your roots can grow in my soil. I am your forever home.”
I never felt that a home possessed a personality before, but she does. She is enough all by herself. Confident and strong, she knows that she isn’t the most expensive home in the world, or the most glamorous. She is who she is and she stands proud.
In the Jeep, I’d brought everything from my Virginia City Pantry. Winterpast had her glass doored pantry waiting to accept what I brought. As I put down new shelf paper with soft blue squares each filled with one tiny rose, I remembered buying this for the ranch. For two decades I’d carried around the last roll, thinking that some day it would have a use. Such a sweet little pattern. Once the pantry was stocked, I felt anchored. There was not a bed, or chair yet, but she was mine. Neat little cans of Cambell’s and a fresh loaf of bread said it was so.
Over the last year, she has welcomed new and old friends. She craddled me as I said “Goodbye” to VST at his summer memorial. She let me scar her front yard, removing old plants, while patiently waiting for me to make up my mind on the new ones. She has revealed her age slowly, in a way that is normal. She wears her cracks proudly as I wear my wrinkles. She has watched Miss Firecracker and I share laughter and tears on very special days. She has welcomed Ninja Neighbor, and strangers that became dear friends. Winterpast knows all there is to know, and a little more.
Her RV barn, although empty now, will someday hold more dreams. For now, it is an extra space for me to place things too dear to throw away, but too painful to look at every day. She holds everything that would make my real garage cluttered. She is the dream of every man that has come to visit or work. It was the RV barn that VST and I fell in love when we first came to see her, knowing that our rig would nestle there waiting for spontaneous outings. Little did we know vicious storms of cancer were ahead.
This last year has been one of growth. I hope Winterpast loves me as much as I love her. This year will be one of paint and decorating. One of happy holidays filled with decorations and laughter. One of pride of ownership and a new front yard.
I hope your home is a place that you feel the safest. I hope it has a personality that works with yours. Homes hold our hearts carefully.
To Winterpast, I say,
Of all the roads
Both East and West,
The one that leads to home
Is BEST.
Happy Anniversary, Winterpast!! I hope we have years and years to enjoy one another.