THE HOME PLACE

Fayrene Stafford Farmer wrote news items for our local paper for many years,her articles were a joy to read , she wrote about common everyday things and always made me stop and draw a deep breath. This is one of her articles... There is a lonely feeling on our hill. My cousin died yesterday. He was the last of the Stafford men who have lived on Yocum Creek for nearly a century grandfather came here just after the turn of the century. He traded a grocery store in Missouri for the place. He brought his wife and three children,two boys and a girl, to the old farmhouse,which still stands. Grandpa lived there until his death in 1951.
my dad, shortly after he married my mother, bought property adjoining grandpa's place. We all grew up there. Daddy lived there until his death in 1973.
my oldest brother lived on the farm adjoining my parents' place until he passed away eleven months ago, leaving my cousin as the only Stafford on the creek.
the hills still watch over our valley, the oak trees still stand, sturdy and strong, and the little creek still winds its way past grazing cattle. But there is sadness that was not here yesterday. My cousin is gone.
he loved the land, as we all do. He mourned the loss of a single tree."we may have to cut down the old walnut tree in granpa's yard. They tell me it is diseased. What do you think?"he ask each of us anxiously.
Did grandpa realize what he was doing when he acquired the Yocum Creek farm so many years ago? Was he aware of the way it would tug at the heartstrings of his children and grandchildren, working a magic that would not let them go?
But now they are gone, all the Stafford men who lived on and loved this land.
But maybe not. Maybe there is a great-grandson or two who bear the Stafford name who even now are feeling that mysterious pull to live on the creek. I hope so. For now that sad, lonely feeling remains.
My cousin is gone.