Going Home
Something happens to me when I hit 281S and head towards Montpelier or Marion. As I travel down the paved or gravel road, I become a child again.
I remember the days were much simpler then. When all I had to worry about was getting my chores done so that I could play with the kittens, ride my bike, or lay with my dog Sneaky on the side of the hill and watch the cotton candy, animal shaped clouds pass overhead.
Or going in to Sitz's store on Wednesday nights with a quarter in my hand and coming out with a sack of penny candy that would satisfy me and my friends for most of the night. The streets of Marion seemed so large and busy then. The days were carefree and the nights a celebration as me and Mom listened to the music being played at the bandstand.
Traveling the road home today opened up a floodgate and let the memories of visiting my grandparents rush through. Swinging in the tree swing, taking hikes with grandpa through the shelterbelt, helping grandma make squash or lye soap, eating her fabulous homemade bread.
I parked the 4Runner in what used to be the driveway to my farmstead.
I remembered.
The streets of Marion are smaller now and not as many people occupy them. The bandstand is gone, as is Sitz's store. My grandparents house is gone and with it, the tree swing. My parents farm is no more, except in my heart and memory.
I'm not the little girl of 10 anymore, barefooted and carefree.
But every once in a while, that little girl comes out and remembers...when I Go Home.
I remember the days were much simpler then. When all I had to worry about was getting my chores done so that I could play with the kittens, ride my bike, or lay with my dog Sneaky on the side of the hill and watch the cotton candy, animal shaped clouds pass overhead.
Or going in to Sitz's store on Wednesday nights with a quarter in my hand and coming out with a sack of penny candy that would satisfy me and my friends for most of the night. The streets of Marion seemed so large and busy then. The days were carefree and the nights a celebration as me and Mom listened to the music being played at the bandstand.
Traveling the road home today opened up a floodgate and let the memories of visiting my grandparents rush through. Swinging in the tree swing, taking hikes with grandpa through the shelterbelt, helping grandma make squash or lye soap, eating her fabulous homemade bread.
I parked the 4Runner in what used to be the driveway to my farmstead.
I remembered.
The streets of Marion are smaller now and not as many people occupy them. The bandstand is gone, as is Sitz's store. My grandparents house is gone and with it, the tree swing. My parents farm is no more, except in my heart and memory.
I'm not the little girl of 10 anymore, barefooted and carefree.
But every once in a while, that little girl comes out and remembers...when I Go Home.
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