A life you can hang your hat on

I peered into the old carport. It was very deep and narrow on one side, just wide enough to fit a car into, but about two car lengths long. The entire area was covered with dust and just looked old. I walked into an area off to the side where a maze of animal pens were. The entire buliding felt as if it could fall in with every gust of wind that tore through the countryside. I found myself cornered into a small area that looked to be a long gone chicken coop. The little nests had no hay and there was no evidence of chickens recently inhabiting them. I made my way back out and then off to the barn. I stood at the entrace of the barn, it was even worse than the carport. The log structure, yes, I said log... was covered with tin. This old time pressed tin that has decorations pressed into it. The tin was nailed onto the structure in a haphazard way that I am sure was intended to provide the most coverage. inside one area an old sign with the letters URE leaned against the wall. I am not sure what it said, but only that it was old. There was an old wooden bed frame, and an old suit case. Back near the house there were jars and jars of hominy, beets, okra, and other unknown canned goods sitting in crates. I picked one up and inspected the hominy. That's lye in there... ewww... The flower beds that are full every spring with flowers sit empty. There will be no flowers this spring. The gate is there, but the fence is gone, so is much of the house. This is my Dad's grandparents house. The house he came to as a kid, ran through the pasture, and rode a mule. It was built in 1905, I've heard, and until the past few months it was lived in. The roof was falling in and I don't see how they went year after year without the pipes freezing. My great uncle Wilburn lived here until a few months ago. Now the house is being torn down. It wasn't worth saving. In a few weeks it will be gone, leaving only the shallow hole that my dad will level in with his tractor. An end of an era. One day long ago I am sure my great-granny Bertha stood in that kitchen with her family laughing around her. She cooked there, she put her dishes away there, she probably tended to scraped knees and once upon a time, before they were family, she entertained my mothers grand-mother and my mom there. It was her home, and now it's gone. It makes me think of my own parents home, how one day it too will be delipated and someone will come along and tear it down, board by board, stripping memory by memory along with the sheetrock and nails. It makes me sad to think that one day my own parents house will meet the same fate as my great-grandparents, and that eventually all of us will be gone. All of these times we have now will be nothing but memories and that there will be none of us left to remember. I stood in the doorway of the log barn, looking at my ancestors life. They were farmers. This land was all they had. The land, the house, and this barn. There were no stocks or bonds or money in the bank. Only a bunch of canned hominy, a log barn, and flowerbeds. They lived a life that I can be proud of. Good people earning an honest living... and I want to remember that.