GARDEN ROAD

Who could have foreseen that something so routine as a tonsillectomy would have such dire consequences. Eric, seven, died on the operating table and the family was completely devastated. All of their dreams died with him and their grief was so great that they would never again return to the farm on Garden Road. Indeed, they could not bring themselves to sell it either and it lay fallow for ten years.

They say that nature abhors a vacuum and nature had her way with the abandoned acreage. Vines tangled around the end of the chicken house, blackberries overgrew their boundaries and nearly took over everything in their way. The flowers grew wilder and more beautiful in their new found freedom. The fruit trees matured and bore fruit, now for the enjoyment of the birds that nested in their branches.

World War ll came and went. Still the farm sat silent and now, foreboding, as the hedges grew as tall as locomotives and shut out the view of the house and outbuildings from the road. It became a lovers' lane and the gossip of the neighborhood as car lights could be seen coming and going at all hours of the night.

Because of the war, there was an acute housing shortage and as our family was soon going to be growing again, Mother and Dad began looking for somewhere larger than the small, cramped apartment where we had been living. My father's parents lived on Garden Road and knew of the Errickson's and were able to contact the family to discuss renting the small cottage. We moved in early in April of 1948. I had just turned seven in December of 1947. My Grandfather always said it was because I reminded Mr. Erickson of his son that they decided to rent to us. Whatever the reason, the Garden Road farm was to become our home for the next seven years. To be continued...