My mother’s side of the family—the Bryants. Her mother, father, sister, and two brothers. The love of this family rooted partly in blood, but more in the love that was created between dear friends. This same abundance of love flourished in the walls of a beautiful house in Monches. One where my mother and her siblings splashed in the pool, spent evenings in the living room, and ran rampant through the bountiful yard. 

The Mill House, as they called it, was owned by a lady named Lainey Taylor. Lainey and her husband had no children, but had been long-time acquaintances with my grandparents who, themselves, raised an army. Those four children spent every summer at the Mill House, day after day exploring each and every corner of its breathtaking layout. Lainey became a staple in the lives of the Bryant children, her calm presence watching as they played

As time passed, my mother and her siblings grew up. My mother married my father, my uncles became adults, and my aunt followed closely. Soon, my parents gave birth to a child of their own—Callow Jane—a little girl. And, before they knew it, less than three years later, I was born; Elaine “Lainey” Christine. My mother says that I was named Willa for a day, but she must have changed her mind when she looked at my nine-point-eight pound, curly-haired head and saw some essence of the beautiful woman she grew up with at the Mill House. 

So, to me, my name means love. Not only through blood, but through the community that I was so lucky to be raised in. “Little” Lainey Christine—to my uncles, Lainey Lu. I continue the love that “Big” Lainey Taylor left behind. The love for the family that I am not related to. For all my parent’s best friends who became my aunts and uncles—Uncle Bitz, Auntie Andy, Uncle Joe, Heidi, Dash, and so many more. My own personal village. 

 Sadly, “Big” Lainey passed away only a few years after I was born, but I feel proud that I was able to meet her. The Monches Mill House still stands and, when I visit, in a way, it feels familiar. Like a part of “Big” Lainey Taylor has been left with me since her passing; more than just her name. I can only hope that I bear that name proudly. Perhaps I will fill those shoes eventually.