Once upon a time, this was my backyard. Farm machinery hibernating through a long winter, awaiting its springtime use. Pastures and fields to use as a playground all year long. Acres and acres of uncivilized land at my disposal.
My confession? A silly and eternally hopeful part of me had always hoped that someday, somehow, I could one day have enough disposable money to purchase the farm. I could maintain and improve upon it, and use it for summer vacations and time away from the new home that I've made with my husband and son.
We drove past the old farm yesterday. I asked my husband to while we were on the way to see my grandparents. First, we drove past the driveway. I could see the old barn looking much like it did in my childhood. The upper doors were new, painted bright white, but other than that, little had changed. Our house was gone, but I knew that had been the first thing to go after the farm was sold, so there wasn't a shock with that change.
We drove down the road, turning to go up the hill that leads into town. From the new road, you can see the pastures and fields belonging to the farm.
My backyard? And the corn field behind it? Gone. Replaced by a newly constructed pole building.
The cow paths I'd once walked down? The cliff where my now-husband had once called the cows? Gone. Leveled out and replaced by still another pole building.
So much of it was just gone. Flattened by bulldozers. Hauled out by dump trucks. Thrown away.
I can't go home again. It can never be mine again.
It's not there anymore.