Farewell to Johnston Farm

The end of July brought closure to a lot of things: it was the end of my summer vacation, the end of my time as a (semi) stay-at-home mom, the end of our weeklong trip to San Antonio, and most importantly, the end of an era as we said goodbye to the farm that I have always known as Grandma and Grandad's house. While Grandma and Grandad now have a new home in town and I know there are still tons of memories to be made there, I will never forget the laughter, joy, breakfasts, porch swinging, card games, photo shoots, and slumber parties next to Grandma and Grandad's bed. Of course, this does not even begin to cover the many memories I have from one of my favorite places in the world, but surely it displays the special place that this piece of land and frame home will always hold in my heart. For me, this was the one house that stayed the same no matter how many times we moved. It was the place I slept better than anywhere else. It was the place that joy and such depth of love you couldn't even explain greeted you with a big bear hug the second you opened the front door. It was home. I am so thankful though that in the words of one of my favorite songs, "Home is wherever I'm with you," and it's not the place, but the people, that make a house a home. I am beyond grateful for the time spent at Johnston farm, and am even more thankful that my son was able to spend some time there before the big move.

In addition to our time spent at Grandma and Grandad's house, we were able to attend the Johnston Family Reunion, which I had not been to in years. It was so much fun to see cousins and watch our kids play together. How time flies!

I want to end this post with the sweet poem that Kirby wrote to accompany a canvas of the photo above that we gave to Grandma and Grandad for Christmas this past year. It perfectly encompasses the love of our family and our grandparents who inspire and bless so many.

Johnston Farm

by Kirby Brown

Popcorn ceilings and carpeted floors

Three little bedrooms with a couple of doors

White wooden panels and a sturdy roof of tin

A box unit in the bedroom to warm all our kin

But it’s not the house that makes a home.

A shop in the woods where Grandad taught me to play

when I wasn’t learning how to drive in a field full of hay.

A wooden porch where I stood while he protected me from snakes

when they weren’t in the carshed—what a mysterious place!

But it’s not the house that makes a home.

A deer blind now crippled once held Grandad, sister, and I

while we searched for animals and watched the sun rise in the sky.

The pecan trees were plenty and told many a story

like the time one caught my first bullet and brought lots of glory.

But it’s not the house that makes a home.

A brown kitchen table where Grandma helped me dye eggs

A red stool so I could dry dishes even with my short legs.

A wooden buffet filled with sweets like Grandma’s chocolate cake

And all the other goodies that we would help her bake.

But it’s not the house that makes a home.

A small bathroom in the back kept warm by a fire

with a tub in which we cuddled when the tornado became dire.

A cabinet full of scents I would sneak after a bath

because I love to smell like Grandma and moonlight path.

But it’s not the house that makes a home.

A bedroom with a bed on which my Grandparents slept

with room on the sides where my pallet was kept.

This served as the perfect McDonalds drive thru

when I played with the adding machine—the time, how it flew!

But it’s not the house that makes a home.

A garden full of veggies that I helped pick when they were ripe

A love for cherry tomatoes that I would joyfully swipe.

A tree swing that hovered over a bed full of ants

which didn’t keep me from swinging and getting dirt on my pants.

But it’s not the house that makes a home.

Though you no longer live on that old county road

I can still feel the love that you both have always shown.

I can still smell Grandma’s chocolate cake

and hear the boisterous laughter after a joke Grandad makes.

I cannot wait for the new memories that are to come

because it’s not the house that makes a home.