I've been whistling that song ever since i heard it all weekend. It sounds like home to me. Goofy yet completely sincere. But I'm never really sure which home I'm referring to...I call my apartment home. I call my parent's house home. Ohio is home. Chicago is home. Hell, the mountains of the Blue Ridge feel like home since I've loved them my whole life. And lucky me I travelled to all three homes this week!
First in a bus, then a car, then another car, then back in a car, then finally a bus to a train to my apartment door.
This is my home in Virginia. My Grandaddys' house. It's been the same since I can remember.
Familiar faces, young and old.
I love turning off the highway into the tiny town, onto a rougher road, then a gravel road and finally bumping up the steeeeeep driveway to the house. And the smell!! Oh Lordie! Red dirt and wet loam. Very crisp. If there was a candle that could replicate it I'd burn it every day.
Of course this visit was too short.
Saying goodbye to Grandaddy's mountain, until next time.
And this is my dearest home. The quiet hills and fields of Ohio.
Miss Linda and I went on a long walk in the Arboretum. Some things are just the same, but there's lots of new things to see and explore too. Sadly, it was too late in the year to say hello to the frogs who live under this dock. But we checked anyways. Just in case.
Two days earlier a bunch of Sandins had trooped into my Great Uncle's house for Thanksgiving dinner, arms loaded with food. He set to work in the kitchen putting it all together (whenever someone asked what they could do to help he would hand them a box and say "read what it says, then do it."). Meanwhile, my Grandaddy quietly puttered around for a few minutes, sat down at the dining room table, arranged things to his liking and proceeded to make up a plateful of sandwiches. Y'know, in case someone was hungry and couldn't wait an hour for dinner. I ate two.
Grandaddy's Thanksgiving Sandwiches:
A soft roll with butter spread on one side and Durkee's Famous Sauce (Famous Sauce!!!) on the other.
Ok, he was a purist and just used country ham but I added lettuce this time (shhh!). If you're lucky a nice slice or two of brisket also tastes divine.
I washed these down with beer. I urge you to do the same.
And these aren't my Aunt Evy's pickles but they'll have to do.
Ahh, home, let me come home, home is wherever I'm with you!
2 comments:
I LOVE THAT PHOTO! the braids are so adorable! all these photos make me a little sad inside, because there are still places that make me feel that nice homey nostalgic way, but without the people, it's not home. home is wherever i'm with you, indeed.
Isn't it! That's my grandaddy on the right, his sister Carolyn, and older brother Robert on the left. That old home ec text book I have was Carolyn's, she lived for nine years in an iron lung. She was a brave lady!
I know in my heart for the rest of my life I will have to go back to those mountains, and it won't be the same as you say, but I'll have to go anyways. Like the sea calling to a selkie. Maybe now you're just carrying your home in your heart, like a hermit crab!
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