My father was twenty years old when he met my mother. On horseback, he and his brothers were making their way home from a hunting trip. Riding through the forest and meadows, they came to a house just north of Cedar Creek and about a mile east of the Tom Covington place. The house was less than two miles from where the Rodgers family lived and although my father knew the occupants of the house well, he had never seen the girl who was sitting on the front porch; yet, he was determined to learn more about the young lady whom he believed to be the prettiest girl he had ever seen.
Not being able to allow such an opportunity to pass, the very same day, freshly bathed and with clean clothes, he rode back to that …show more content…
It was Daddy’s castle where his queen reigned and his children played. Most of my formative years were spent there, but eventually the old house gave way to a larger, more efficient house, which my father erected with his own hands. The house was not an elaborate display of beauty; rather it was built for the pleasure and comfort of his family. It pleased his sweetheart and that was what mattered to him.
The old house saw the rearing of four brothers and their adopted sister. However, one of these days it, too, will give way and it will no longer be home to those who hold it in their fondest memories. But, of course, an empty house is no longer a home. It’s just the place or the house where home used to be. What remains are the lives of those who were touched by those dear ones who lived there.
The memories of playing under the old hollow Oak Tree, swimming in the creek, working in the fields, feeding the cows, riding horses, hunting in the woods by day and night, playing our favorite indoor games or reading from the Bible as we sat near the fire place and sitting around the supper table will always be a part of us. After all, a house is not a home. A house is simply a place where a home may live, but when the people are no longer there, it is just a house. Richard