Places
The first couple of days I was home, I mostly relaxed. Sat around and talked, went over to my best friend's family reunion, went to church, and just visited with Mom and Dad. On Monday, I got up and decided to dig in to some things around the house that needed to be done. Mom & Dad live in a log house that Dad built. The logs were not properly seasoned and so have begun splitting rather badly. The interior of the house is almost all wood, most of which Dad milled himself, and most of which has no finish and was not smoothly sanded. In other words, it's the perfect habitat for dust and spiders. So, I began dusting. I dusted places that probably had not been dusted since the house was built in 1982. Spiders went scrambling for new homes. I washed the 100 or so coffee mugs Mom & Dad have collected. I rehung pictures and changed out some rather old pictures of siblings for more current ones.
By Wednesday evening, I decided to give myself a break. Pat (my friend) was going to be spending the evening with her mom, who has had several mini-strokes, and requires someone to be with her most of the time. As I headed toward her house, I decided to take the scenic route. I turned on the car radio, and knew I was pretty close to heaven when the announcer proclaimed, "All bluegrass - all the time."
As I drove, I noticed new places along with familiar ones. My second cousin's son had grown up and built a house near his grandparents' place. As I rounded the curve past his place, I saw my dad's cousin's place, somewhat changed, but much the same. Then, past the place where my husband and I had lived. The place that had belonged to my dad's aunt and uncle (the aunt and uncle who shared a wedding anniversary with my parents). On past the Boyce Wilson place - where our dog, Wolf, had frequently visited when their dog went into heat. He couldn't get to her, so he would bring home souvenirs - a boot, a glove, a mop. We wondered for the longest time where those things came from, until one day we were talking with Mrs. Wilson and she mentioned how things disappeared from their garage. Then, on past the Carroll Martin Rogers place - where one summer our cat decided his barn would be a better home for her kittens and so she moved them while we were gone on vacation. On past Kitty & Clifford Rogers' place - where they sat on the front porch in white rocking chairs, and we would stop to visit as we rode our bicycles in the evenings. Past the Hansford Doran place, and the place where my dad gave us the land to build a house, and then took it back when we didn't build there. Place Helen Doran's place, now in disrepair since she can't live there any more. Past Jordan's Grocery (pronounced Jerden), where all the retired men gathered around the pot-bellied stove in the winter, and where we went for bologna sandwiches. The Jordans are family. The store is closed now, but that store was the gathering spot for generations in the little community of Brown's Grove. Past the place where my brother used to live, although his house had burned after he left and a new one stands on the location. Past Carl & Ruth Miller's place, and the place where my parent's lived, and then I lived with my brother, before he finished high school. Past Miss Molly's place. Many places the trees grow so close to the road they almost make a canopy over the road. Other places the crops grow up to the road. On past the Paschall place, and again past the Antioch church, and the cemetery where so many of my ancestors are laid to rest.
As I drove, it hit me that all the houses were known as someone's "Place." That was how you described it when you were giving directions. Go past the Miller place, the Doran place, the Harrison place. And everyone knew what you were talking about.
When I got to the Harrison place, I went in and sat at the table, and visited with Pat and her mom while Pat cooked for an event the next day. It was just like old times. As the hour grew late, Juanita went to bed, leaving Pat and me alone. Pat said, "You might as well stay the night. It'll be just like old times." It was tempting - but I didn't bring a toothbrush!
It was good to go home, back in time, and drive down the road and remember when that was my place.
I don't think we have that so much anymore. A feeling of "place." You don't give directions to a "place." You think of addresses, not places.
There is something about a sense of belonging, of knowing "this is my place." I think I miss that.
June 16, 2006
By Wednesday evening, I decided to give myself a break. Pat (my friend) was going to be spending the evening with her mom, who has had several mini-strokes, and requires someone to be with her most of the time. As I headed toward her house, I decided to take the scenic route. I turned on the car radio, and knew I was pretty close to heaven when the announcer proclaimed, "All bluegrass - all the time."
As I drove, I noticed new places along with familiar ones. My second cousin's son had grown up and built a house near his grandparents' place. As I rounded the curve past his place, I saw my dad's cousin's place, somewhat changed, but much the same. Then, past the place where my husband and I had lived. The place that had belonged to my dad's aunt and uncle (the aunt and uncle who shared a wedding anniversary with my parents). On past the Boyce Wilson place - where our dog, Wolf, had frequently visited when their dog went into heat. He couldn't get to her, so he would bring home souvenirs - a boot, a glove, a mop. We wondered for the longest time where those things came from, until one day we were talking with Mrs. Wilson and she mentioned how things disappeared from their garage. Then, on past the Carroll Martin Rogers place - where one summer our cat decided his barn would be a better home for her kittens and so she moved them while we were gone on vacation. On past Kitty & Clifford Rogers' place - where they sat on the front porch in white rocking chairs, and we would stop to visit as we rode our bicycles in the evenings. Past the Hansford Doran place, and the place where my dad gave us the land to build a house, and then took it back when we didn't build there. Place Helen Doran's place, now in disrepair since she can't live there any more. Past Jordan's Grocery (pronounced Jerden), where all the retired men gathered around the pot-bellied stove in the winter, and where we went for bologna sandwiches. The Jordans are family. The store is closed now, but that store was the gathering spot for generations in the little community of Brown's Grove. Past the place where my brother used to live, although his house had burned after he left and a new one stands on the location. Past Carl & Ruth Miller's place, and the place where my parent's lived, and then I lived with my brother, before he finished high school. Past Miss Molly's place. Many places the trees grow so close to the road they almost make a canopy over the road. Other places the crops grow up to the road. On past the Paschall place, and again past the Antioch church, and the cemetery where so many of my ancestors are laid to rest.
As I drove, it hit me that all the houses were known as someone's "Place." That was how you described it when you were giving directions. Go past the Miller place, the Doran place, the Harrison place. And everyone knew what you were talking about.
When I got to the Harrison place, I went in and sat at the table, and visited with Pat and her mom while Pat cooked for an event the next day. It was just like old times. As the hour grew late, Juanita went to bed, leaving Pat and me alone. Pat said, "You might as well stay the night. It'll be just like old times." It was tempting - but I didn't bring a toothbrush!
It was good to go home, back in time, and drive down the road and remember when that was my place.
I don't think we have that so much anymore. A feeling of "place." You don't give directions to a "place." You think of addresses, not places.
There is something about a sense of belonging, of knowing "this is my place." I think I miss that.
June 16, 2006
posted by pawatson at
6/23/2006 11:17:00 AM
