Preserving the Past

Memories are kept in a rehabbed kitchen.

My kitchen doesn’t have a classic sign that says “farmhouse.” I thought that might be redundant. Our house sits on a dusty gravel road, surrounded by wide fields and the sounds and smells of our family cattle and grain operation. It’s obvious that it’s a well-used, workman-style farm kitchen, from the boots at the door to the fresh tomatoes on the counter to the big meals we cook for family gatherings and harvest crews.

This humble room has been used to serve three meals a day for decades (we are the third generation to live on the family farm). My kitchen is a place full of memories, both for us and the myriad aunts, uncles and cousins who hoed, milked, mended and plowed here.

When it was our turn to settle in, the kitchen was not looking its best. The ceiling’s plaster was falling and its beam was rickety, the floor was chipped and pitted, and the walls dated circa 1960. Some said to just tear the old place down, but I thought of all the lovely people who had grown strong and faithful here. I begged to save it. So the work began. The plaster ceiling came down and stayed down. Worn countertops were pulled off. I sanded the trim, working through layers of paint.

As the sander whirred, I thought about everything that had happened in this room. The conversations around the table. The birthdays, baking parties and new babies. The quiet sighs above the dishwater caused by heavy burdens. And then I wondered how many prayers were offered in this very space. Almost every morning for more than 50 years, Grandpa, then Dad, led his family in Bible reading and prayer. This humble kitchen had witnessed countless holy moments. I was so glad we were saving it.

Not everything needed to go. The old cupboards are sturdy and wide, so we just gave them fresh paint. The 1960s oven has sat in the corner since Grandma got it; it’s a bit quirky but still works great. The black wood stove was used to heat the house during Grandpa’s day, and we hope to bring it back to life this winter. The much-loved schoolhouse clock still keeps time.

As for the lights: Our son made them from turkey feeders we found out back. Incorporating family treasures while making the kitchen my own has been a joy. We hope to add many more memories to the multitudes already made here. And we’ll continue to meet for Bible reading and prayer.