Making Home - Ashley Berrett (warren buffett book recommendations txt) 📗

The man touched the rotting grain of the wooden door and slowly eased it open, despite his best efforts, the two remaining rust covered hinges let out a creaky groan. He stepped down from the doorframe and into the gray morning light. He could feel autumn on the breeze and, without hesitation, he replaced the stuffy dust filled air in his lungs with the fresh sharp air of the fast coming cold. An involuntary chill ran up his spine, and forced him to grasp the warm metal of his thermos tighter. The Thermos was not filled with overpriced coffee, or the even more pricey hot cocoa, no, this thermos only encased boiled water. He also carried with him a small piece of bread. Having been baked a few days prior, it was stale and crumbs flaked off at the touch, but it was all he could spare for a measly breakfast. The man walked over to a small shed. It sat in disrepair in the shadow of an equally shabby house. The house was all he could afford and try as he might to make repairs, the roof still leaked, the heat still escaped, and the boards still creaked, but it was home.

The man stepped into the dank dark shed and picked up his soot covered pick ax with a calloused hand. He had grown strong from his hard work in the coalmines, strong in mind, body, and spirit, but he still couldn’t manage to strengthen his wealth. Stepping back into the growing light he suddenly found himself studying the awe-striking horizon. What had begun as a dull gray morning sky now completely transformed into radiant shades of pink, purple, and violent orange. The man wondered at the idea that the only way the inflamed hues were able to dance in the sky was because of the clouds. The clouds that would later transform into savage afternoon storms, that would cause coal blackened water to swirl about his ankles in the mining tunnels. The storm that would rack his houses fragile frame and drench his loving wife, But for now the far off clouds reminisced in dazzling color as if it were trying to make up for the hardship it would cause later in the day.

The man walked to a gray rock in the middle of his yard. With no trees, or grass daring to grow on the top of the hill near the place the house stood, the rock was the only thing that adorned the earth on the hill. Weeds attempted to cover the hill but to no avail, as seeds were scattered in the sharp breeze they simply struck the hard earth and continued en route without leaving a single mark on the ground. The man stooped down and placed his hand on the rock before sitting down. The rock felt like ice, and the droplets of morning dew that collected on it only increased the frigid feel of the rock. Paying no regards to it, he continued to his seat, feeling only gratitude for a place to sit, watch, listen, and enjoy his stale bread breakfast. He leaned his thick heavy pick ax against the rock and then unwrapped the cheese cloth from the piece of bread as a quick pile of crumbs fell from the his lap onto the packed dirt.

A parade of ants quickly changed route a few paces away and hurried to their latest find. The man marveled at their teamwork and unity as the army of ants never broke formation in gathering the breadcrumbs. The man took a generous bite of the bread and thought of his wife, letting his mind wonder if she was awake yet. A thoughtful smile played on his lips as a picture formed of her perfect amber hair and soft brown eyes, filled with only love and joy as she meandered around the kitchen cooking up a gooey stomach warming gruel. However, only in his mind’s eye did she treat herself to gruel, it was what she deserved, but he knew her better, she would only allow herself to partake of the delicious, gooey, maple filled gruel if she planned to serve it to her husband as well. She has stood by him through all their trials, for as long as he’s known her he couldn’t think of a single time that he saw disappointment etched in her beautiful face. He loved her, she loved him, and soon there would be one more to share their love with.

Father. A simple phrase, and yet it meant so much. It meant he would have a tiny bundle of joy to hold, to love, to protect, to provide for, to comfort, and to care for. A soft anxiety slithered through him. What if the disappointment he never saw on his wife’s face would suddenly be apparent when he was inadequate to provide for his child? Or worse, would it appear on the child’s face? Just the thought of it caused his heart to crack like a rock under powerful strike of a pick ax. The expected father’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted as wet panting began to climb towards the top of the hill. Accompanying the lapping of air was a white stiff-furred wagging tail. The man couldn’t help but smile as the stray dog he had nicknamed Leroy sauntered over to him. Leroy let out a hopeful bark as the man took another bite of his bread. All that was left was the rock hard crusts and he didn’t hesitate to this breakfast with the dog. He then grabbed his thermos and took a long swig.

With the arrival of Leroy, also came the time to trek down the steep hill to the coalmines in the cliffs below. The man bent over as Leroy finished the crust of bread and rolled over on his back to allow the man easy access to his white stomach. The man placed his hand on the dog’s wiry fur and scratched as the dog wagged and squirmed in pure delight. The man examined Leroy’s gray-white spotted fur and wondered if the dog would transform completely with a nice, soot exterminating lather. He thought of when he met Leroy for the first time, when his wife had allowed the mangy mutt to follow her home after she had given the dog a piece of ham out sympathy. The dog had followed the man back down the steep slope the following morning when the man walked to work and Leroy hadn’t stopped. Each morning Leroy climbed the hill just to walk down again in the company of his food-giving friend.

With a sigh, the man and stood and Leroy quickly rolled over and did the same, softly wagging his tail, apparently content from the delightful belly rub. The man shoved the cloth that had previously contained his breakfast into his pocket, picked up his pick ax and slung it over his shoulder. He set his feet towards the pathway winding down the hillside and into the mines. When he reached the beginning of the descent, he stole a quick glance toward the sagging wooden house. Without shutters, the window showed through dirt streaked, tattered glass. They revealed not a house filled with bounteous luxuries, or even luxuries at all, it showed no fancy rugs, or awe-inspiring pictures, no hanging lamps or a stove used only for cooking. The man started down the slope grateful for the company and immense loyalty of a stray dog. He let his thoughts drift again to his concerns for his unborn child, he could only hope that when the child final beheld his surroundings, he would not search for the things that make a luxurious house, but for the precious things that make a loving home.

Publication Date: 09-13-2015

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