This holiday weekend was bittersweet as we celebrated the last holiday in both of our childhood homes. Both of our parents are packing up and shipping out, selling the homes we grew up in and downsizing – slightly.
My parents are moving from Richmond Hill, “Toronto” as the boy calls it and moving to an “Adult Living Community” in Alliston – a town that doesn’t even have a Starbucks or a Chapters. I’m not sure how they’re going to do it but, they’re really excited to see and hear about their new house as it is being built. Today they were told shingles are going up!
The boy’s parents are moving from a 120 acre working farm, complete with sheep and baby lambs – they even have a black one this year, into the town of Thamesford. They’ll be living in a town with a population of about 3000, and this for them seems like a lot of people. They’ve never had to worry about waking the neighbours. In fact one of the first times I met some “town” friends of the boys, one of them introduced himself as his “next door neighbour.” I was to learn a few weeks later that the term is used loosely in the country, as his house/farm is actually on a different street, and there are about 7 farms between them! “That’s not next door – that’s hardly neighbours,” I said. The boy answered, “we’re not in Toronto – that’s next door out here.”
The boy and I are both really excited for the other’s family – he’s thrilled mine are moving to a golf course, they back onto the 4th fairway, I’m thrilled that the smell of manure should be a little less now that his family is “in town.” But we’re both sad for what our own families are leaving behind, him the farm and all of the time he spent outside, or playing in the hay lofts, me my home and my backyard, and all of the memories that are attached to my neighbourhood.
But they’re packing up so we need to pack up too, it’s part of what made us both feel like real grown-ups this winter. And even though we’re both a little sad, I know the new houses will be full of new happy memories too.