It’s just an old shovel, orangey red paint barely clinging to it's neck, and worn smooth wooden handle. As I dropped it into the trunk of my car a few weeks ago, and headed over to the Meridian Street Habitat House, I wondered have many times Pepaw’s shovel had been plunged into the ground. How many gardens had it dug through? How many hollow brown homes had it prepared for new roots and life?
I’ve hauled this shovel all over middle Tennessee. Its first dig with me was at “Windham Farms”, my little house on the corner in Antioch. It was the first tool I went hunting for when I moved to East Nashville. And that steamy morning a few weeks ago, as I ransacked the tool shed to find it, there was this brief moment I worried that it had gotten lost in transition. When I my hands found its familiar feel, I felt relieved that my old friend was still right there, waiting for the next dirty assignment.
I watched as Glen easily nosed the shovel into the ground where we had planned for the landscaping down the walk at the home on Meridian Street. My Grandfather, "Pepaw", would be proud to know that one of my favorite family heirlooms, his shovel, was again digging into the dirt. Particles of soil from the previous furrow of dirt being shared into the new one......just another location that its sharp blade and worn handle were doing their job.
What’s your favorite family heirloom? What memories are tied to it?
