A Passel of Memories

Passel.  Isn't that a funny old word?  It's not used any more, which is kind of a shame.  It means a large number of people or things.  I think it should be used again.

This past weekend my husband and I went on a 180 mile yard sale, it originated in Detroit and ended at the other side of the state near Lake Michigan.  It was along the old Sauk Trail, which was a native American Indian trail running through Indiana, Illinois and Michigan.  Once you are about 50 miles west of Detroit, the old  US Highway 12, as it is now known, becomes beautiful rolling country side. Old farms, and sweet villages take you back to a different time.  Corn fields, beans growing and fields of sunflowers make your mind and body relax.  They don't make noise, blink lights, or demand your attention;  you just give your moment in time to each beautifully planted field and it give you back an extraordinary sense of gratitude  and a  heart full of good feelings.  I was anxious for more then one reason to take this little trip.  The sales were fun and interesting, but family ties to this part of the state meant much more to me, only I didn't realize it at the time.

Many, many years ago my Mother's side of the family took interest in this beautiful farm land near US Highway 12.   My uncle was the first to buy an old farm house and acreage.  He and the family still lived here in town, but even 60 years ago he got fed up with being taxed every time he improved his home.  He quit improving it (to my Aunt's dismay) and went out and bought an old farm to visit on weekends. It was a place he could plant trees (with the help of my cousins) and enjoy what God had created.  Unfortunately he passed away not to long after he bought that place, but he paved the way for a passel (great word!)  of memories to be made on that very land.  For many in our family, it became the catalyst for the need deep down to have a place in the country.  In time,  another Uncle and Aunt and her family, as well as cousins have purchased part of his land and built homes.  This farmland and my family that lived there opened up a treasure chest of  never forgotten times spent there.

Hal and I took a slight detour off of  highway 12 that took us where the old farm is.  Where we had a family reunion and some of our children were just babies.  We sang, laughed, reminisced and ate way to much. This is my Hungarian side and the cooking and especially baking lingers still.

Tears are forming, that passel of memories are flooding over me.

To be continued...............