Yesterday, I returned home, to the place of which I spent my childhood, and showed my own children the home where I grew up. Some years back, I had returned, only to find that my beloved Hollow Tree had been cut down, along with the other trees on the property. Yesterday, I was stunned to discover that a few trees did, in fact still remain, much to my joy and surprise. Upon my last visit, I did not notice these trees, and in my shock, thought everything had been cut down. I'm not sure why, but nonetheless, indeed, a few do remain.

    The landscape has indeed changed, as it often does with time. The old blue house is now yellow, and the enclosed porch, which once held a woodstove, a bunny rabbit, and many strange plants, is now a small deck. Most of the trees are gone, and there is a cold emptiness where the Hollow Tree once stood. A few new sheds, as well as a massive, hideous blue building behind the house, are all new. The barbed wire fence is gone. The cows are gone. The old, abandoned house on top of the hill... gone, overgrown and covered by snow as if they never existed. They are all faded memories, ringing in my ears like the old little, rusty bell on the door that my Grandpa used to ring every Sunday morning when I was little, (he would ring the bell, open the door, and bring the paper in... find me, tickle my bare feet and tell me to put socks on.) I still walk around barefoot, Grandpa, but you gave it a good effort!

    When I was fourteen, our neighbor's barn burned down. The volunteer firemen extinguished it with water from a neighbor's pond. The barn was rebuilt, with the help of the community, a dying sentiment in many of today's neighborhoods. That farm is now up for sale, a roll of the dice that's anyone's call.

    A tree across the road was struck by lightning when I was small, an image I will never forget. In fact, I witnessed several accounts of lightning during my childhood on or around that property, and have remained terrified of it to this day. Recently, I was told that lightning is said to be good luck (yeah, good luck... like being pooped on by a bird, or rain on your wedding day?) That felled tree remains, and I plan to collect some bark from it when the snow thaws, to test this whole "good luck" theory.

    I grew up very old-fashioned for someone my age, something I once looked down my nose upon with heartfelt resentment. I was the first one on and last one off, on my daily, grueling bus routine, which involved walking up the road through cold, snow, or mud, and quite often, somewhere along the way (usually on Fallsdale Hill) getting stuck in said cold, snow, or mud, and being helper to the bus driver (my neighbor), in achieving desired unstuckedness. My sister and I had to collect and chop wood at an early age, as well as many chores of rural farm life that few have experienced in modern American times. Now that I am grown, with a sea of endless channels at my fingertips in a single click of the remote, a nice, shiny washer and dryer and a thermostat set at a comfy 71 degrees, I long for those simple times of having, what at times felt like, nothing. The funny thing about nothing is that nothing is usually a great, big, beautiful something, and as I grow older and experience so many somethings, I now long for a whole lot of nothing. Quiet, peaceful, glorious nothingness. No honking horns. No stolen cars or gunshots. No convenient shopping at the mega center. Just simple, boring, nothing.

It's funny how what you once valued in your twenties becomes pretty meaningless in your thirties. Maybe it's having a family. Maybe it's just growing up. I'm not quite sure, but anyone I talk to says the same; there's no place like home. I, like every other restless kid, hit the ground runnin' and had to go see the world for myself. Now that I'm in my motherhood, with my own little herd, I'm ready to settle down into a quiet life, and yes, maybe even return home.

    With each season, things change. The lines deepen and weather with age, and with each tumbled leaf, a tiny bit of wisdom is earned. My old little house has a new family loving her, and somewhere, smiling down, are the seeds of the Hollow Tree, protecting us in her loving arms. Though the northern tier of Pennsylvania has become a bit more cultured, artsy, and yes, yuppified, much of this is a good thing, and a somewhat happy middle ground has been established. Maybe more young folks will stay, as there is so much more for them now. Out in more rural areas, some things remain timeless and unspoiled, for now, anyway.

    I'm not sure what lies ahead for my family, as I believe we will have many changes in the months ahead. Chris and I long for our own little piece of land, away from the city, for our children to have a bit more freedom on. I know as they grow older, they, too, will spread their wings and leave the nest, on their own journeys into the vast, open world awaiting them with endless possibilities. But, sooner or later, when the time is right for them to come full-circle, we will be there, waiting, with open arms, when they, too, make their way home.

"Mommy, your house is so little!"

"Wow. It really is", Chris says. "Ya know, I don't remember it being that small."

"Funny", I reply, "Neither do I."

(To read Sarah's wonderful story of the Hollow Tree, please visit Spring 09 Faezine)

By Sarah Costanzo

Enchanted Childe

Sarah's favourite saying - Life's a garden, dig it!

“As far as living in the magic, Be, there is great beauty in all of life's small things, which are really what's most important. Embrace each precious moment, as it's all magic. Watching a ladybug with my girls, jumping in leaf piles, building a snowman... things like that. The silly stuff, that's what I love, and that's magic to me.”

Once upon a time, there lived a small toad named Sarah, in a wooded swamp in northeastern Pennsylvania.

At age sixteen, she was kissed by a handsome prince, who promised to turn her into a human girl, so long as she agreed to cook, sing, and paint for him. This she did, and they lived quite happily.

She attributes her artistic talents to being born with unusually short thumbs, and to this day still has slimy feet and smells funny.

Sarah has been a member of Enchanted Folk since September 2007

members.enchantedfolk.com/enchantedchilde