Welcome to "Merry Hearts Cottage" today! We have had a busy, busy week, but we thought we'd stop for a bit and let you know that we've been thinking of you ;).
We are quickly trying to get our house ready and packed, before putting it on the market~ Nothing like trying to do four years' worth of house repairs in two weeks! Mr. Graham is planning on traveling out to Missouri with his parents on the ninth, so we will be in a whirl until then!
On Monday we were sad to give away our chickens to our friends who live down the street. We've had our chickens the whole time we've been in this house, and they were our friends. Hopefully it won't be too long before we can start all over again!
Audrey sprained her finger eleven days ago, and so has been unable to write or draw. To occupy herself, she has taken up "glamour photography" (wherein one coerces a sibling to dress up and pose in lots of different ways). Here are some of the results~
Even Noel was not exempt!
We'd better get back to painting the house now, but we are grateful for your friendship and prayers, and hope that you are having a blessed week.
by Edgar Guest
It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home,
A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes have t' roam
Afore ye really 'preciate the things ye lef' behind,
An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em allus on yer mind.
It don't make any differunce how rich ye get t' be,
How much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great yer luxury;
I ain't home t' ye, though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round everything.
Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;
Afore it's home there's got t' be a heap o' livin' in it;
Within the walls there's got t' be some babies born, and then
Right there ye've got t' bring 'em up t' women good, an' men;
And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn't part
With anything they ever used -- they've grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumb marks on the door.
Ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got t' sit an' sigh
An' watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know that Death is nigh;
An' in the stillness o' the night t' see Death's angel come,
An' close the eyes o' her that smiled,
an' leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart,
an' when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an' sanctified;
An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant memories
O' her that was an' is no more -- ye can't escape from these.
Ye've got t' sing an' dance fer years, ye've got t' romp an' play,
An' learn t' love the things ye have by usin' 'em each day;
Even the roses 'round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin' someone dear
Who used t' love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em jes' t' run
The way they do, so's they would get the early mornin' sun;
Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from cellar up t' dome:
It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home.