The Evers home sits empty now, its siding is weathered and only bits of paint remain. The windows are boarded and old farm equipment sits unused and rusted. Prairie grass and vines have taken over and one day I'm sure the old place will either be torn down or nature will bring it down. In spite of what you see, if you listen closely you will hear the distant cries of babies being born and the giggles of children laughing while at play. Enticing you to come home is the smell of chicken frying and bread baking. If you look towards the fields you can see the shadows of men working as the sun begins to set.
About six miles up the road is the “Old Boldt” place. All that remains are a few black and white snapshots of the place the Bebensee family called home. Before the dust storms of the 1930's it was a beautiful farm. There were lots of fruit trees, lilacs and evergreens and a big apple tree that had a swing tied to a branch for the kids to play. They had lots of chickens, geese, ducks, pigs and cows. A collie dog named Jack was the protector of the place. These were the homes of my parents, places that remain in the heart.
It is a kind of ritual every Sunday after church that my folks stop by for coffee and an up-date on the weeks events. I will never forget one particular Sunday a number of years ago when they stopped by. I had old photographs strewn all over the kitchen table in preparation for writing some family history. Mom and I looked through them and of course I had my usual array of questions: “Who's this and how are they connected to us?” In the mix of the photo's were a few wedding photo's taken of my folks. Mom picked up the picture of my Dad, young and hansom in his uniform. She had a funny little smile, one that I hadn't seen before. There was twinkle in her eye, you know that kind of twinkle that has a little emotional tear with it. She gazed at the picture for quiet a while before she spoke and then she said something that touched my heart. She said, “You know I could fall in love with this guy all over again.” My Dad didn't say a word, just a giggle and I saw the same twinkle in his eye that I saw in Mom's. I do believe that in that moment those feelings of first falling in loved swept over him too.
I've always known that my folks loved each other, but, at that moment I felt the passion and excitement of young love and how they must have felt all those years ago. It was a wonderful thing for me to share and to know that young love can remain after 68 years and a lifetime of memories.
That's one Sunday coffee I don't think I'll ever forget.