You can always make more money, but the time missed with family can never be found again


Time passes all to quickly these days. I was rudely reminded of the long distance between my folks and I a few weeks ago. So I booked a flight and climbed onto a plane before dawn to journey East.

Since stepping off the plane I have been in awe of the green. like a warm blanket on a cold winter day there is a comfort in the towering maples that obscure the sky and turn country roads into tunnels. The rolling mountains just past the fields bring back memories of adventuress and dreams that saved me during dark times. Life in general in this sleepy town has not changed much, if any, in the last thirty years. There is a comfort in that fact. The store I went to as a child still has the same people working behind the counter, the Volunteer Fire Department is holding its annual spaghetti dinner. Their four fire trucks parked along the road to make room for the tables and chairs in the tiny fire house.
My parent’s yard, looking larger than ever compared to those in the city where we live, and more beautiful than my childhood memories allow me to believe. We spend the day working in the yard, digging in the dirt on our hands and knees close to the ground so we could feel the heart beat of rural New England. The sound of lawn equipment mixing easily with the chorus of birds and the gentle breeze. Side by side three generations knowing that though the work means a great deal the time spent together is what matters the most.

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