There is no place like home
/A few fun things have happened between dips in the pool over the last few weeks. I'll try and catch up over the next two days. First off, I went back home. Alone. Without my family. It was such a gift to get away all by myself. Well, I guess I wasn't entirely alone. I took Ray Lamontagne and Patty Griffin along. They sang very loudly to me during the car ride.
When I got there, I met up with some girlfriends. Some of which I hadn't seen in a very long time- like 12 years!
I love keeping in touch with these girls via their blogs, but there is something about hearing their voices and squeezing their little ones. We laughed a lot (and cried a little bit too). I love knowing them as women and mothers now. Our life's experiences make us all a little richer. We are all over 30 now, and honestly, better than ever.
I also stole away to some of those places that will forever be preserved in my mind as landmarks of home. Out in the country, I took a little drive in the contrasting shades of prairie and forrest. Down those rodes that are so familiar and yet entirely different now, I found some snippets of my childhood.
I drove out to the sight of my first "official" job.
The Gun Club. Yes, like a shooting range.
I hated it. I sat out in that high, covered bench/desk thing. The men (and a few burly women) would come out to the line and say "pull" and I would hit a button on a little remote control that made the clay disc come flying out of that in-ground box out in front of us. They would shoot at it, and I would keep score. It was utterly boring, the sportsmen weren't always very sportsman-ly and I hardly ever got a break. There were a few cute boys that worked there though, and when you are 13- that was enough to keep me from quitting.
My next stop was down Waddle Creek Road. The only street we ever lived on. I drove by the houses of our neighbors and thought about the difference between neighbors in suburbia and neighbors in the country. The man that lives two miles down is your neighbor on Waddle Creek Road. I like that. I liked remembering the names of all the families on my street, the Mounts, the Siebenbaums, the Friesels, the Gundersons (more on them soon), the Bells, on and on.
The creek was just over the hill in my back yard.
Countless summer hours were spent in those shallow pools reading books, catching crawdads, and eating Otter Pops.
The only thing missing down at the creek was our rope swing which used to be right through those trees. It provoked lots of "guffaw-type" laughter, and an occasional Tarzan yodel. I was sorry to see it removed.
My drive continued along my family's favorite bike route. Down by the dairy. Now a protected bird reservation, it is no longer making milk. Once, I unknowingly rode my bike through sprinkler spraying manure onto the pasture. Tears and fury followed as I had to ride the rest of the way home covered in poo.
This is the Littlerock Church. I first gave my heart to the Lord here when I was 7 at VBS. What I wouldn't give to see the inside again. Quaint no?
Not pictured:
Littlerock Grocery- where I rode my bike 2 miles to spend all of my meager allowances on Jolly Ranchers and Laffy Taffy.
The Post Office- a dingy old single-wide moblie home. I remember my mother sending me in to buy stamps for 12 cents or something ridiculous like that.
Farm Boy- the greasy "mom and pop" burger joint that we would order take out from on the occasional friday night. I would always order the junior burger basket- heaven on a bun.
It was good for me to go home- out to the country. It was good to smell the smells (mossy earth), and hear the sounds (trickling stream). It was good for me to be alone. It was good to see in person the places that are so vivid in my memories.
So much of my time is spent on the here and now, it was good to remember the "then".
