EDITOR’S NOTE: This is part of a weekly series on our region’s history coordinated by the Trumbull County Historical Society.

For many families, the heart of home is found in a single place.

For me, it was found in two. My maternal grandparents, Clifton and Annie Payne — lovingly known as Granny and Grandpa — and my paternal grandparents, Curtis and Wille Bell Shavers — Grandpa and Madea — lived just down the road from each other on Braceville Robinson Road.

Their homes were more than addresses. They were “The House.”

As a child, I didn’t understand the weight of that name. ”

The House” wasn’t just where my grandparents lived. It was the center of our world — the place where values were taught, where cousins gathered, where laughter echoed and where the doors never closed to family. Holidays, birthdays and ordinary Saturdays all found their way back to those two homes.

Every spring and fall, both sides of the family upheld a tradition that brought everyone together. My mom or dad would call out, “Get up and get dressed! We’re going out to ‘The House.'” That meant one thing: a full day of work, food and fellowship.

Outside, the men took charge of the yard. Grass was cut, trees trimmed, shrubs shaped and gutters cleared. A bonfire burned steadily as my dad and uncles tossed in branches and debris. There were no coolers or bottled drinks — just the familiar taste of cold water from the spigot.

Inside, the unmistakable scent of Clorox, Pinesol and Lysol filled the air. My mom and aunts washed curtains, scrubbed walls, mopped floors and dusted every surface. A couple of the ladies always slipped out to the garden, returning with fresh vegetables that would later become part of the evening feast.

Meanwhile, my sisters, cousins and I ran wildly playing tag, kickball or whatever game kept us out of the men’s way. We knew better than to go inside “The House” for anything unless it was a bathroom break and it had better be quick!

But the best part of the day came in the late evening!

At Grandpa Curtis and Madea’s, long tables stretched across the patio, covered with the harvest of the gardens: black‒eyed peas and rice, corn on the cob, fried chicken, collard greens, cucumbers and tomatoes, and thick slices of watermelon grown by Madea herself. The star of the spread was always her homemade biscuits.

At Granny Annie’s, the highlight was hot water cornbread straight from the skillet and her famous jelly cake laced with coconut.

The food fed our bodies, but the laughter fed our spirits. My dad and Uncle LeRoy kept everyone doubled over with their corny jokes. At Granny and Grandpa’s, the night often ended with dancing and a little homemade wine from Aunt Delight.

Those days shaped me. They taught me the meaning of family, the value of hard work and the comfort of belonging. Now, as a grandmother myself, my home has become “The House.” Some traditions have faded, but it is still a place of peace, love and family, just as it was on Braceville Robinson Road.