Generation to Generation

 

A life-sized cardboard little girl holding 

a giant ice-cream cone was my 

first imaginary girlfriend as a 

child. It was on the back door 

of the garage--right in the

centre of the wall. In front of the 

little girl was a chest of 

drawers. It's still there

today. Little has changed in that 

garage since the day I was born 

nearly 40 years ago. 

Up in the rafters are bed frames,

carpets and scraps saved

in-case they are needed--or maybe 

they are there just for the 

memories. Likely it's both. My dad's

tools have accumulated on the east 

wall and on the west there 

are shoes that have not been 

worn in decades.

The old farm is nearing a century

of Franks on the property and 

my grandfather still lives there--not as

a ghost but in the trunks

and the branched of the trees, 

the architecture and the decor.

The old grain bin's shingles at the

north end of the yard were replaced by

my dad and my brothers and me 

a few years ago. We ripped up shingles

and rotten wood that were put in 

place in the 60s by my Uncle Miles

and Grandpa Frank. 

When my dad told me this, I time travelled 

to the scene and felt the distance 

between now and 

then. It was both so close and so long

ago. It tickled my imagination. I touched

the decay and smelled it. I was there with 

them. I felt the space between each of them 

and the breeze 

and the sun that they

felt a generation ago. 

But now the farm is fading away, slowly disappearing

like ashes and death. And we can't take it

all with us. There are too many boxed and the 

caskets are only so big. It wouldn't

do any good six feet under, anyway.

Instead, it will survive in fragments

in the hearts and minds of our children. So much

of this will be lost, dead with the rot and 

dust of our bodies. But fragments will live on. Just

slivers of memories, stories and truth in the hearts

and mind of our children.

The scent of the garage will be gone forever 

and my imaginary girlfriend

holding the ice-cream cone will only 

be a ghost in the dreams of tomorrow.