There’s a lot of farm country near my daughter’s home north of Johnstown.
About two miles away on the crest of a small ridge sits an old farm house recently refurbished from a condition that showed years of abandonment and disrepair. It now has new siding, roof, a mowed front yard, cars in the garage, and is filled with the sounds of family.
What hasn’t changed is the wonderful perspective I get from the bottom end of the eastern rise of that small hill. The house, garage, and trees make near perfect stencil cut silhouettes against the setting sun and sky almost every time I visit.
The exact shape and color of the sky is always different. Sometimes, depending on the season, the sun sets directly behind the house, its bright orange orb dominating the frame.
Other days, like Easter Sunday, it’s the clouds that make the statement allowing the sun to splash its rays through the cloud edges casting inspirational rays across the land.
And, I’ve been there during rain, snow, corn too tall to see over, and drought so hot that the ground cracked and crops shriveled.
What is common about these moments, about the times I pulled a camera to my face, is the house on a hill. A house that is now a home and much more than a silhouette cutout.