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When my grandmother is ill, my grandparents move out of their old white farmhouse to a new little red house across the road. Later—Because I cannot take him to the old white farmhouse of my memories, I take my boyfriend to the little red house. He sits in my grandmother’s chair surrounded by her pictures & end tables & souvenirs. My grandfather makes tea. He is ill. If I get married next summer will he be there?

Later still—Because I cannot take my children to meet my grandparents, I take them to Nova Scotia. Someone else lives in the old white farmhouse. Untrimmed bushes cover the windows. The paint peels. The shutters rot. Someone else lives in the little red house too. My mom and I look at the things stored in the basement. Five children and twenty two grandchildren but my grandparents’ things are in boxes & piles. My mom worries about taking too much. I worry about taking too little. Our family friend thanks my mom for renting the little red house to him. My kids are lucky to grow up in such a beautiful place, he says.

I put the secretary desk in my living room with the three photos and one painting of my grandparents’ farm. Inside the desk—A 1966 street atlas of London. Newspaper clippings. An envelope of photos of the old white farmhouse as I remember it, taken for home insurance documentation. My grandmother’s handwriting on the back of each—Bedroom #1. Bedroom #2. Home made quilt. Bedroom #3. dining area. LAMBETHWARE 8 settings China cups and saucers 25 glassware crystal decanter & glasses. family room. SUNROOM. Bedroom #2. LR. Front Hall Singer in cabinet. kitchen. Bedroom #1. Bedroom #1.

Where is my grandparents’ home? Is it under the dirt on the old white farmhouse? Is it in the basement of the little red house? Is it in the photographs in the desk in my living room?

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