Our first Old Home Day that we drove to in a car with NH plates… Our first Old Home Day in our own small town… We were not vacationers passing through. This was our Old Home Day, and we were excited. Cars lined the small road that meandered around the old school house. The bustle of the ham and beans lunch preparations surrounded us as we neared the tents. At the lunch ticket table, we greeted a dear neighbor who has lived in our town her entire wonderfully full life. Near the blue grass band, we bumped into friends from church.
On a dirt road behind the church, we chatted with a man who brought history alive as he shared details about his unique ride–one of only seven like it that are still in existence today.
From tractors to quilts to art to bees, it was history and small town life on display at its finest.
But small town life wasn’t just on display; we were an intricate part of it–a part of history in the making in a small town.
As we ambled back around the turns in the road to reach our car, we passed sweet reminders of those men who served in the Revolutionary War, the men who revisited the land of their youth on the first Old Home Week.
I felt overwhelming grateful to be a tiny part of this small town’s story as it is being written throughout the annals of time, at the hands of an abundantly immense God. A gracious God who marked out our family’s boundaries in a land so fair. Long before we even heard of this tiny town or set eyes on our little cape on the hill, by the dam, where the crystal clear lake empties into the winding river, He planned to place us here. For that I will always be thankful.
“From one man he made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of their lands.” Acts 17:26