A farmer's daughter

If you know me, chances are you've heard me talk about "the farm." The farm is our family's land, with a house and a barn, out in the county (read: way out in the country past any signs of life). It's been in our family for close to five generations and all of us hold it very dear to our hearts. Well, some of us more than others, but that's a story for another day.

Anyway, the farm has been through a lot in its time and it shows. The floors have rotted through, the walls have cracks where sunlights peeks inside and more than one animal has met its demise somewhere among those rooms. The time has finally come to do some renovations, and believe you me, it's a task to take on.

My brother and my dad are the "superintendents" of the whole construction process, and they've got two other men that help them out a couple of days a week. I went out there this weekend with my mom to take a look around, and what I saw astounded me. The floors, which I'd seen before, are down to the bare ground underneath the house. Literally when you walk in the house, you step down a foot onto dirt. The beams that support the house, logs that have been split in two, are exposed and you can still see the half-moon shape of the wood. Keep in mind: this house was built in the early 19th century and this stuff is original. The walls have been stripped of sheetrock and whatever else was up there, and they now consist of clapboard planks, also original.

Right now the work is limited to what used to be the kitchen and dining room, separated by an unnecessary wall. The wall between the rooms in gone, which leaves this huge, open space. In the former dining room, sheetrocked ceilings were constructed some time ago, concealing a beautiful pitched roof. The guys plan to keep the pitch, leaving somewhat of a cathedral ceiling. The fireplace in the kitchen is missing a few bricks, but is still in generally good condition and has andirons that I can only imagine are at least a hundred years old.

What's even more amazing than this total transformation of part of the house is that there's no on-site supervisor, no construction crew, no contractor. There's just my dad and my brother, and they've done this incredible thing. I don't know where they learned how to do what they do, and I don't know whether or not they're doing it right, but one thing is certain: they have poured heart and soul and hard work into this house. They have spent weeks out there, only to realize that the job is three times what they thought it would be.

For what do I have this kind of love and dedication? Could I spend every hour of daylight on one dirty, filthy, difficult project and never complain? I could, but only if it were for my family. My dad has said on more than one occasion that his favorite part of this renovation is spending time with my brother. I think my favorite part of this renovation is knowing that I am the daughter and sister of two people who love that farm, that house and that land. Something that lasts through generations is, really, the tie that binds.