The Farm is Calling...

It's the Sunday after Christmas

    and that means one thing

        if you're a Thomas...

            the farm is calling.

I still remember the wonder

    of my first Christmas on the farm

        eleven years ago

            back when we were just dating.

I had been prepped on all the names

    of my boyfriend's 4 "G" uncles and 3 "S" aunts

        and all their spouses

            and all the cousins upon cousins

                from young kids

                    to adults having kids of their own.

I remember in detail the meandering farmhouse

    walking into the room where I played Up and Down the River with some uncles 

        or In a Pickle with some aunts

  

  with the pile-of-coats-and-shoes off to the side

    to the kitchen table with chairs for a fraction of the people

        where the scent of Sister Schubert rolls already filled the room

    to the TV room, already tuned to the UK/UofL game with Grandpa in his easy chair

        (my Christmas-y red wasn't welcome in this big blue nation)

    to the bathroom with the most unique toilet seat

        I've ever had the privilege of sitting upon (sorry, no pictures of that!)

    to the overflow bedrooms where you go

        to eat or play a game or take a nap

    to the "dining room" with easy access to the buffet line

        a smorgasbord of enough food for lunch and dinner and leftovers

            pulled pork and chicken

            Brittni's ramen noodle salad

            Grandma's famous baked beans

            the little ham sandwiches...

    to the bedrooms where the cousins find toys, hang out, and make mischief

    to the room where all the action happens

        49 stockings lined the wall

            (I didn't get mine until I was officially part of the family,

            even when our Christmas at the farm was 6 days before our wedding)

        the pool table covered in delectable dessert options

            Grandma's yellow cake

            Ann's mint brownies

            M&M rice krispies

        the massive gift exchange and subsequent wrapping paper fight

    and finally to the sunroom where I'd often sit with Grandma

        if she wasn't too busy directing the incoming platters

            or hugging one of the 49 people (now over a dozen more)

                represented by the stockings

And the food and family and frenzy and festivities

    have continued much in the same fashion

        for the past eleven Christmases

            as my boyfriend became my fiancé and then husband

                and we contributed 4 stockings over the years

This year is drastically different.

Grandma, the matriarch

    of the ever-growing clan,

        is celebrating her first Christmas in heaven.

While we would have, of course,

    preferred that she were still around to offer us a hug,

        she offered us the gift of gathering -- 

            her funeral in mid-March

                caused the whole clan to come together

                    mere days before the whole country

                        closed completely from COVID.

And, because of COVID,

    a Christmas gathering of dozens of people

        seemed unwise

    so instead of sitting in his easy chair surrounded with people today,

        Grandpa sits alone with the memories,

            decades more than mine from eleven Christmases

Yes, the farm is calling today,

    but instead of going,

        we'll be calling the farm

            and wishing Grandpa a merry Christmas.

We remember the good days

    and we hope for good days to come.

(sadly, I can't find any pictures from my dating Christmas in 2009 

or my engaged Christmas in 2010)

2011

(look at Grandpa's face in the background. Ha!)

2012

(An autographed copy of Cameron's favorite picture)

2013

2014

2015

(What a difference a year makes!)

2016

2017

(either...So many people! or So much cake!)

2018

2019

(2014 - when I insisted on a scrunched timer photo indoors)