Magical MEMORIES
MEMORY is a funny thing. We can forget what we did last weekend, but we can remember with sparkling clarity a conversation from 40 years ago. Some events, and some places, just seem to have a grip on us, rooted in our minds forever.
That’s what my grandparents’ farm in rural Virginia is for me.
We visited it every summer of my childhood, for two or three weeks at a time. It took hours and hours of driving to get there. However, once we drove up the gravel driveway, smelled the green of the boxwood bushes, pulled open the door of the screened-in back porch to be greeted with the smell of Mimi's vegetable soup and homemade rolls, my parents, siblings, and I felt like we'd stepped into another world. It was so different from our Connecticut home in the suburbs.
The Old Farmhouse
Mimi and Papa’s farmhouse had been built in the 1920s.
