The Chimney

This past Saturday was a glorious day.  The sun was shining brightly and the temperature rose into the mid-60's.  It was a little taste of spring on the last Saturday in January.

Marilyn took advantage of the nice weather and drove up to the Dalton community to visit the Mennonite store.  We bought a loaf of fresh-baked whole wheat bread, and had them make us each a sandwich, which we enjoyed outside on the picnic table.

On the way home we decided to take a detour.  Instead of heading south on Hwy. 93, I turned left onto Bakerden Road.  I really had no idea where I was going to come out, but the sun was shining, the sun roof was open, I had a nearly full-tank of gas, so it really didn't matter.  As my Mom would say, we were on an adventure.

For those unfamiliar with Bakerden Road, it winds eastward for several miles from Dalton, hugging the Missouri line eventually ending at Warm Springs.  There are few homes and even fewer vehicles on the road, just several cattle farms, as the soil is full of rocks and not suitable for row crops.

About two-thirds of the way to Warm Springs, Marilyn noticed a chimney standing alone in a field off to our left.  As we got closer, I slowed and eventually stopped and looked at the solitary structure.  It was a chimney, built with different sized and different types of stone blocks.  There was no indication a house had been there, but obviously one had at some point.

We stared at the lonely structure for a long time, as if we were studying a Picasso or Rembrandt in a museum, wondering aloud what stories the chimney might tell.  There was once a house there.  From the construction of the chimney, you could tell it was carefully built.  What was the home like?  Did the father pain-stakingly build it and then go get his family?  What about the family?   Were babies born there, and for that matter, did someone die there?

Who were they, what did they do, what was their story?  All that was left from their home, was a chimney, still standing proudly in the late January sun years after its construction, serving as a reminder of what was, leaving us to wonder what was, creating more questions than it answered.

The chimney was silent, offering no clues to its past.  As we drove off, it grew smaller in the rearview mirror, standing tall over the field it called home, as if it were scanning the distant horizons hoping for the rest of the home to somehow magically reappear.