Sunday was a day that I’ve been dreading for a long time. My mom has been living in a nursing home since she was hospitalized in October and she’s now well enough to move to an assisted living facility. She’s quite excited about her new apartment and the fact that she’ll be reunited with her beloved cat. I’m happy for her. I’m also relieved, because my mom will continue to receive the care she needs while having some independence.

However, this life change means that we have to move her permanently out of her house. This includes sorting through and packing up not only my mother’s things, but many of my grandparents’ things, since she lived in their old house, the house where I grew up. My aunt is an expert organizer and loves to declutter; she’s been an immense help in this daunting task.

Why was this day one to dread? Because it finally became real that she won’t be living there anymore as we carried totes and boxes out to the car. Around every corner was a memory, waiting to leap into my mind. Sitting in the kitchen drinking countless cups of coffee; practicing my piano lessons on the old piano; running down the hallway from my bedroom to the Christmas tree on Christmas morning; seeing Grandpa and Grandma waving goodbye from the window as I drove away; waiting up in bed for mom to come home from work. The little house on Saddle Club Road has been part of my life since birth.

Before the memories and overwhelming thoughts took over, my husband shouted from outside where he’d been plowing. A hot air balloon from the Hudson Hot Air Affair was heading our way and its handlers asked if they could land in our field. My son Lincoln and I ran out into the bitter cold toward the barn, shading our eyes against the brilliant sun. The other kids were too wimpy to brave the cold and watched from the window.

Shane plowed a swath for the balloon handler’s truck and trailer to get out into the field. As Lincoln and I huddled against the old barn taking photos, the great flames blasted as the balloon drifted downward. The balloon pilot dropped a tether and the handler grabbed it, helping to guide the balloon to the field. Just as I was taking video of the descent, the wind kicked up and the balloon rose into the air again, heading toward some trees near the barn.

“Can you help?” the handler called out and we ran toward him, grabbing the tether in a giant game of tug of war. Just as the balloon brushed the treetops, heading toward the barn, we were able to pull it back toward the field where it eventually landed light as a feather.

The grin on my face stretched from ear to ear. As I trudged through the old cow yard toward the barn and house, I turned around for a second look. The giant balloon was slowly deflating as its riders disembarked and helped guide its collapse. Lincoln was chattering away, unable to believe that we helped pull a hot air balloon to safety. I had a lump in my throat, thinking of the time a hot air balloon landed in the next field over when I was a little girl one hot summer evening. Another wonderful memory and a new one to add to the mix, on the land where I grew up.

I’m not sure what the future holds for that dear piece of property, but there’s no price tag that could accurately measure what that place means to me.