Heirlooms have to start somewhere...
I turned 44 years old today. Not quite the age of an heirloom yet, thank goodness.
I received a gift from my family this week that shall be deemed an heirloom from now on.
Why? Allow me to explain...
St. Joseph River, Clarendon Township, Michigan
This was my back yard as a child. This view is so peaceful for me, I refer to the photos I've taken from the farm more often than I'd like to admit.
There is a wide selection of old growth trees throughout our property.
Tree canopy, Clarendon Township, Michigan
Forest by St. Joseph River, Clarendon Township, Michigan
I walked in the river and among these trees for years. I received my fair share of bug bites, leeches, scrapes, scratches and random rashes from wandering everywhere I could go. I credit this with why I no longer react to bug bites.
These trees were my landmarks, so I never felt lost while being almost a mile from the house. I spent hours walking, sitting, listening to my Walkman, and just being outside because I knew if I went home, Mom would find a chore for me to do.
My grandparents carved initials from 1941
Two of the eight great grandchildren of Aleta and Max Hyde, who carved their initials in the tree in 1941.
This tree is particularly special because of carving my grandparents made in it in 1941. My family has been living in this part of Clarendon township for a VERY long time. This tree continues to stand in the forest, and I will visit it when I return to Michigan next spring.
There are other trees nearby of similar size, and over the years one will come down due to a storm, or another will die of disease, or get nibbled on by beavers.
My father has carefully logged the property for decades, and recently discovered that one of the larger tulip poplar trees had been girdled by beavers. He decided to take it down and create lumber. From that lumber, he created my birthday gift.
Tulip poplar writing desk
Inside of writing desk
This is tulip poplar wood from one of the trees I grew up with that has been hand cut, sanded, and varnished by my father. My brother created the wood burnings on it from my 'Hyde' tattoo that I have on my right leg, and a photo I took of our barn. He included my married name, a four leafed clover, and my father's seal.
It smells like a wood shop, and has a lovely blonde finish that almost matches Thomas and Quinn's hair color.
To have this piece of my home with me, created by my family, is incredibly special. I miss my parents and my brothers dearly. I have made a great life for myself in New York with Chris and the boys, but it will never replace my home. The land and our shared experiences on it are priceless and will tie us together for our lifetimes.
It's been two years, today, since I've seen my family in person.
We were in the same room together at the hospital with my father, relieved that he was on the way to recovery after a brain bleed. This particular brain bleed was less severe than the strokes that had taken his mother and grandfather. His otherwise good health is most likely what allowed him to recover. I flew in from New York and Greg came from France in anticipation of planning a funeral. By the time it was my birthday, we were chatting in his hospital room while he flirted with the Mennonite nurse and cracked inappropriate jokes. My cousin, Ken, returned me to the airport so I could get home to my family who were waiting for me with my favorite fish tacos and birthday cake.
I'm fortunate to have a wonderful, and sometimes sentimental, family.