When your well runs dry…

Have you ever made plans and they absolutely fall apart?

That was pretty much the story of our life over the past 2 years.

We sold our house thinking we would build our dream home. A small and simple 2 bedroom cottage would be perfect as we prepared to have an empty nest.

But life did not agree. As a matter of fact it almost laughed at us.

Covid. Contractor. Calamity.

All at once.

We moved 4 times in 14 months.

Each time you look at things and ask yourself, “Is this worth keeping?”

Especially when an item is extremely heavy.

That’s where the well come in.

My Daddy was born at home in Boothton, Alabama.

Aunt Genevieve said Grandmother felt wealthy because the well was on the back porch. She didn’t have to carry her water any distance.

The things we take for granted.

Years later, Daddy would always take us for a Sunday ride.

It was a time where all we had was a few dollars for gas and nothing else. But Daddy would point out that old road and we would squint at trees as he said, “I was born right there.”

He would always look for the well and point it out. The old house was gone.

Right there remained that way until a few years later and the timber was cut. The old well cap laid on its side.

Daddy brought it to his house and put it in the front yard.

When he was gone and the house was no longer ours, I couldn’t leave it.

Jeff was not so attached.

Every move would leave him adjusting and shaking his head with sweat. And he would throw in a warning, “This is the last time, Cheryl.”

And I would agree because I have learned in half a century that you don’t argue with a man who is doing what you asked.

The last time came again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And you guessed it.-Again…

Each time it required several men. A truck and trailer. And me supervising.

In my defense, I did pay someone to cut it in half so that it was half as heavy.

I being the repurpose type person that I am, made it into two flower pots.

Two very large flower pots. I remember adding up the cost of the bags of potting soil I put in them and thinking my grandparents would not believe that I just bought dirt.

Dirt.

Multiple times.

Daddy said he could remember grandmother sweeping the yard, not wanting the grass to grow where you walked up to the house.

And here I am looking for another place to plant something.

Hopefully the well is in its final destination.

One half holds my tulip bouquet and the other welcomes you onto our back porch.

To me, they are a symbol of not just family, but survival and counting your blessings.

To Jeff, they probably are a symbol of my hard head. And he is right.

I know most people are not as sentimental over a few hundred pounds as yours truly.

When the flowers bloomed this spring, it just felt worth it.

I hung an old dipper above and it reminds me of my wealth.

Running water, a home and my beloved flowers.

I failed to mention- 5 generations of hard heads.

I guess I said all of this just to say, the hard days don’t last.

In the moment, they are absolutely awful.

I remember being mad when people would tell me that “it will all work out”. And I would think something ugly in my head.

Something like, “Well that’s easy for you to say, it’s not your house. Except with a big hmm at the beginning. I am kinda famous for my hmm sound among those that know me best because they know my worst.

And they love me anyway.

So today is a day that it all worked out and I probably owe a few apologies.

I can simply look at my camera roll and count my blessings.

I can think of my sweet Daddy and hear his precious words of wisdom and humility.

He would look around at his family and lean down and say, “I am so blessed beyond what I deserve…”

And he was.

And I am too.

And if you are having a tough day, I just want to say that I love you, please hang in there and remember.

Sometimes your well runs dry, but your cup runneth over…

5 generations of blessings. And hard heads…

All my love,

Cheryl Suzette

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