Small Town Roots

Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Home is a gravel road laden with trees that winds up a hill and to the left. It's a field that mimics the ocean waves in summer when the wind gets caught up in the growing grass that will eventually be cut for hay. It's chirping birds and roaming animals, even the rodent type that I strongly dislike. It's a thicket of pine trees that touch the sky, and a fence row my Pops put up and my Daddy maintains. Spring at home is full of color, with deep blue skies that are happy to have said goodbye to winter. There are calm nights and awakening critters. And there are my Mama's planted flowers arranged just so in the flowerbeds and scattered on the porch in their clay pots. In the summer it's a fire pit and wooden swing, sunsets going down into the surrounding mountains, and frogs singing away in the pond. There are piles of cut wood, of the pine and cherry kind. There is dew on the grass in the mornings and spiderwebs that seem crystalized by the overnight condensation. Home is ingrained in my soul. It's knowing just how the air will smell when I arrive after an absence. It's a welcoming hug as I cross the border into my town, as if it knows I'm back once again. Home is small, yet full of familiar faces and places. It's a deep sense of pride that will always be tucked in the corner of my heart. Home is home and always will be. It will never stop being a special place just for me. No matter my distance, my current location, my desire to get away....home will forever be calling me back.


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