‘I cherish my southern roots and re-visit the old home place often’

The old saying you can’t go home again is probably true in the physical sense, however as I’ve traveled through life I have discovered remembering the old home place brings happy moments. I find comfort in remembering the place where the people are not ashamed of being who they are. I cherish my southern roots and re-visit the old home place often in my memories.

Objectively speaking, there is not reason to love the old home place. It was just a plank house with a tin roof and some of the porch boards were wobbly and warped yet some of my happiest memories were made there. I credit the front porch for many of those special times shared with family and folk on the lane. The old glider swing was good for swinging, snapping beans and story telling.

After grandma died, grandpa closed the house and moved to Florida… Before the house was completely deserted, I made a trip to revisit the porch of my childhood one last time. As I walked the well-worn path from the driveway to the house, I felt a chill as I crossed the porch to look through a window…the windows grandma once prided herself keeping squeaky clean to hang fresh washed white lace curtains were no longer clean. I could almost hear her words “cleanliness is next to Godliness,” and I felt a tug in my heart as a ray of sunlight casts into the room. Visions of life once lived there passed before my eyes. I remembered her saying “we are all just passing through this life once so you best get busy. Do not waste time as it will be over before you have finished all you were put here to do.” Somewhere between childhood and becoming an adult, grandma’s wisdom proved to help me many times.

I sat on the porch thinking about all the life lived in this home place, I remembered sleeping with grandma in her feather bed listening to the gently spring rain on the old tin roof…The warmth of family and friends spending evenings on the front porch, chasing lightning bugs, listening to crickets chirp and the call of the whippoorwills on a warm, summer evening. Memories of my brother’s voices calling out as they play hide and seek in the old cow pasture behind the home place.

My last visit to the old home place I gave thanks for the memories.

Millie’s though for today: there are things we don’t want to happen but have to accept, things we don’t want to know but have to learn. And people we can’t live without but have to let go.

Mildred Higgins