Maple Grove Farm
July 25, 2020— Laura House
When Nathan was ten years old, we moved from our home in Kentucky, leaving memories and sweet friends, to Indiana, which brought us closer in proximity to much of our family. One of the most exciting details about this move was that we would be renting an old farmhouse with eighty acres of surrounding fields and woods.
I can still see the gleam in Nathan’s eyes as he listened to the property owner tell about the history of the farm and the silver that was allegedly buried somewhere. He knew he would be the one to finally find it.
Carefully saving his birthday and allowance money, Nathan purchased a metal detector and went to work on the property— treasure on his mind. After digging a significant hole in a prominent spot in the front yard only to unearth a rusty nail, we mandated a few rules, and his excavations continued in less obvious spots.
Adventures abounded at Maple Grove Farm. The kids created a “museum” of their discoveries in one of the outbuildings — an antler, old farm implements, a rusty horseshoe, a bone-handled knife, an arrowhead, and other items. Exercising their entrepreneurial skills, they created tickets and charged a small fee for the experience of visiting the museum, albeit we were the only ones who actually ended up paying.
Gary mowed trails in the back field where we built a fire pit and constructed a wooden circle of benches that were well-used through the years with our new Indiana friends. We enjoyed a treehouse, basketball goal, hill for sledding, Amish-built barn, smoke-house, and old log cabin. And there was ample room for BB gun shooting and flying Nathan’s remote control airplane, The Firebird. As I write today, the memories flow.
But one of the most treasured memories involves Nathan’s cat, Todd. Shortly after moving to the farm, I felt that we needed a pet other than Jake, our crazy coonhound. Noticing a flyer at a local store advertising “free kittens,” I wondered if a cute furry pet for each child might help our new house feel like home. When I called the owner, they informed me that there were actually four sibling kittens and not wanting to leave one out, I took them all.
Thomas belonged to Ryan, and once had a rush visit to a local vet after I found a weird object he had expelled. I’ll always remember the vet saying, “Ma’am, this is what we call— a hairball. It’s normal. And by the way, did you know that Thomas is a female?” Not sure how I missed that little detail. I hurried the kids out of the office as quickly as I could.
Tiggy II was Megan’s cat, named after a former Tiggy she had loved back in Kentucky. A sweet black cat, Teresa, didn’t officially belong to anyone and clearly had some sort of cognitive impairment, constantly falling off of places that cats normally frequent like fences and trees.
And then there was Todd, Nathan’s cat. As the only male, Todd felt the responsibility of protecting the other kittens and the farm. He was sweet and gentle with Nathan and everyone, but in a pinch, he’d defend the other cats from danger, fighting like a lion. He’d often come home battle-worn, bruised, and bleeding from skirmishes with other male cats that had entered the premises.
He was smart too. Every week when Megan’s little ballerina students came to our home, he’d race to the barn to avoid being dangled by his neck in a vice grip from eager little ones. As soon as the last ballerina left, he’d come back.
Since we all had allergies to cats, they stayed outside with cozy sleeping quarters in the out-buildings and on the back porch. But Todd’s goal in life seemed to be to come into the house. In his mind he belonged on the pink chair. So, he’d hover near the door and at the opportune moment, he’d rush in, hoping he wasn’t noticed. I will admit that all of us at various times pretended not to see him under or on the chair, letting him bask in a short time of victory before putting him back outside.
Nathan spent a lot of time with Todd and unlike a lot of cats who don’t particularly have an attachment to someone, Todd loved Nathan. So, you can imagine the desperate situation that arose when he disappeared for longer than twenty-four hours, the usual time-frame of his wanderings. After several days went by, all of our potential explanations for where he could be, waned. Finally, we feared the worst and started to face the bitter truth.
Gary spent hours researching cats and came home from work one day telling us that he was fairly certain that Todd had become ill, and even proposed a name for the disease that had likely taken him. According to all of the cat experts, Todd probably had left home to find a remote place to die. All of the signs pointed to that end. We were all sad, but Nathan was devastated. I still remember him sitting on the couch between me and Gary, and as we wrapped him in our arms, we all cried. Surely there had never existed a more wonderful cat than Todd.
As the weeks went by, we found ourselves reminiscing a lot about Todd, still missing him every day. Then one night at dinner, we heard an odd noise on the back porch, like someone body-slamming the door. Gary went to investigate and you can probably guess what he found. Todd! Bloody and bruised, he banged at the door, hoping his family would hear him. Tears of joy were shed by all.
If Todd could’ve spoken, I can only imagine the story he would’ve told— the battles waged, his struggle to survive, and the desperate trek to make it home.
I can’t help but think that our earthly lives have some similarities. We are part of a battle, striving in the midst of it to glorify the Lord with our lives, and in the end, we just want to make it home. Never have I better understood the reality of life down here than I do right now. Earth is not our real home, but a temporary place where we are molded, shaped, and sharpened into who we should be for our life that will span eternity. In the midst of trials and suffering, we discover intimacy with our Creator and find joy in traveling through our earthly days, all the while knowing— the best is yet to come.
