I finally got all my things moved from the old homeplace. As I stood on the hill overlooking the New River, I felt a sense of loss.

While my parents sold the place many years ago, I still could feel like I had a right to be there since my uncle bought it from my father.

My father bought it from my grandfather, who got it from his father. It was a part of the original land grant to my grandfather's family.

Most of the land, thousands of acres in all, had already been divvied up amongst heirs several times in the past until only about a 40-acre farm remained with my family.

But now the lure of money has let even that go into the hands of a man I don't know. He will likely not care whether or not I want to visit and quietly gaze over the river. I feel sure I won't be welcomed.

If I had been more financially secure myself, it wouldn't have happened. But money isn't easy to come by in wheelbarrow loads.

At least I still own about one acre of the family land, which I purchased myself, but it isn't very close to the old homeplace. Well, it is close geographically, but it isn't on the same big hill overlooking the river. That's the place, right above the Norfolk and Southern Railroad line, that I remember growing up.

I still recall the sound of the whistle and the chug of the train from the porch and the wind in the trees on the ridge. The last trip I made there, I heard the sound of cascading water from the abandoned fields where once great crops of pumpkins, corn and potatoes grew and where many a rabbit and deer lost their lives.

As I stood on the peak of the ridge, I could imagine the way it would look in the future, with quaint little vacation cabins lining the once fertile soil of 'home.' The bobwhite's native grasses, once food for many an animal, turned to primly-mowed lawns with rubber-stamped landscaping. Once prized because it could turn out a good crop, the land now worth less than the location it holds — offering a 180-degree view of the New River. No doubt the old house will be cleared away, since it will be an eyesore in the new community. What is on the hill will be off limits to common folk like myself, with a big gate and a sign saying something like, 'Sky Hills Resort, members only.'

At the price the land sold for, I couldn't really blame the new owner for wanting to sell it off in little pieces. At first I was hoping he wouldn't, but upon some reflection, I don't really care. Once something is lost, it is lost. It matters very little if it is a big private house or several smaller ones. It will never be what it once was — my home. My family doesn't exactly have a great record of holding on to things. I think I wrote before about trying to gather up heirloom items, like Grandmother's china, great Grandfather's razor and other such things from both sides of the family. So far as I know, one of my sisters and I are the only ones keeping things like that. Most of my aunts and uncles have little interest in keeping hold of the past. In the past, things were sent to the four winds before they had a chance to attain heirloom status.

After my grandmother died, several of her things wound up sold to an antique dealer by one of my cousins. His mother gave him some pink glass dishes, mostly decorative pieces, to put away for his children. Instead, he opted for the quick buck. Don't throw your pearls before the swine. Once we found out about it, we went back and purchased them for about twice the price for which they were sold. It was worth it.

What can you tell the next generation if everything collected and saved over the years is sold for pawn-shop prices to strangers? "Sorry, we sold your heritage for $50. Have a nice day."

But alas, it happens every day.

Holding on to a cup that was once in the hands of a great-great grandfather is something we should value. Once lost, a connection with ancestors is not an easy one to come by. I just hope I do a better job than my forefathers did at keeping something held back for the next generation and at impressing the value of keeping things 'in the family' on my children.

Those who forget the past are destined to repeat it, I have heard. But those who live in it accomplish nothing in the present. Instead of spending all my time reflecting on what is lost, I will try to do a better job at holding on to things for the future. Maybe that can be my contribution to a future that is not yet lost.

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