Few things in life remain constant.  People come, people go, homes change, kids grow.  It is the harsh reality of growing up.

For anyone who knows me, you know my love for farmhouses.  You know how much I love and need to adventure in the back roads of Manitoba.  It is my down time and in some small way, my way of sharing and possibly preserving some of Manitoba's incredible history.  My love comes from my own families history. 

My dad's side of the family (The Spak's) came to Canada from the Ukraine many decades ago and settled in the RM of Oakburn, Manitoba.  In 1939, My great grandparents, Maryon and Anna, built a farmhouse 12 miles northwest of the town of Oakburn.  This was not a typical farmhouse.  The 18 inch thick walls were made of clay, water and straw hauled up from the basement and mixed using horses.  Over time, the house had 4 bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, dining room, family room and a veranda.  This is the house where my dad and uncles were born and raised, where my grandparents live most of their lives, where my brother, my cousin Allison and I spent our summers (getting into trouble mostly), and it is the only true "home" I have ever known.  Our family was the only family who lived in this house. 

I can barely see the screen as I write this through the tears streaming down my face.  I do not think I understood just how much this home meant to me.  And now it is gone. 

The property was sold some time ago as my grandma passed in 1989 and my grandpa in 1999.  It is not close to the city and to maintain it would have been a challenge.  But each year, I made the trip out to visit.  To stop in Elpphinstone and visit the grave, to see all the landmarks I remember as a kid and to just simply feel my grandparents presence when I would walk into the house.  And now it is gone.

My cousin and I drove out yesterday.  She had not made the trip since my grandfathers passing.  We talked on the way out that it could be gone, but neither of us really though that was a possibility.  When we turned the last bend on the drive up, the barn still stand, the outbuildings remain, but the house was torn down.  It is like someone knocked the wind out of me as we stood looking at the spot where the home once stood. 

A part of me is now missing.  A part that will now on only live in my memories and through the images I have taken in the past few years. 

So thankful for this print done my my other grandpa (on my mom's side) Doug Brown of the farmhouse, my grandparents and great grandma.  I will cherish it now more than ever.

In memory of Joan and Peter Spak.  Gone but never forgotten.