just a little bucket

I have a lot of good memories from several years of living "out in the country", though that area is now grown up, and really was only 5 miles out of town.  Our little property was home when the kids were young.  Elizabeth was about 7 when we moved there, and Robert about 13. Those were good years, and the perfect place to raise a family.  Lots of trees, a barn, and room for a few horses and the kids to enjoy themselves.  Naturally, anything that takes me back to that time is a good thing.

When I moved, it was the right thing for me to do.  Reggie had died, the kids were grown and on their own, and I didn't want to mess with a pool and keeping up the property.  But at the same time, there was a bit of nostalgia because I realized that I was leaving a part of me behind.  It wasn't a rash decision, but I would miss the open space and my bit of rural living.

I didn't have this bucket when I lived there.  There's an area between Cleburne and Grandview that has what they call a 20 mile garage sale once a year, and not too long after I moved I went to it.  Towards the end of the 20 miles a feed store had some things set out, and my little bucket was one of the items.  And yes, if you know me at all, you're right in assuming that it spoke to me.  

I think I had intentions of using it as a planter by hanging it on my fence.  That didn't work out.  It sat in my garage awhile.  And lately it's had a new life as, for lack of better words, a weed bucket.  Its a handy size to carry with me as I pull a few weeds here and there.  I've had plenty of opportunities to part with it, but it's always called out to me to just hold on.  I may live in town, but this lets there be a little bit of country with me.

And there's something comforting about the clunk of the handle hitting the rim...know what I mean?   It's good to take comfort when and where we can.

What's your bucket of comfort?