Home. We define it in so many different ways. The place we grew up. The place we live now. An imaginary locale we wished we inhabited. It doesn't matter what you call home. It matters that you have one.
And, now that you have admitted you have a home, what calls you to it? Is it the memory of an event that makes you smile? Like that Christmas your Uncle Greg told stories of his days hitchhiking across the United States in search of himself? You roared until your sides ached. Of course, that was the same Christmas when his daughter Cheryl ate all the butter cookies and threw up on a pile of unopened (and never opened) presents. I'm not sure Uncle Greg found himself, but he was a wicked story teller.
Is it a smell? Marcel Proust's memory of a cookie is world famous. Does the memory of a smell draw you home? Your mother's cooking, burnt chicken on the grill, your grandmother's talcum powder, your father's pipe tobacco?
Or, like me, is the home you return to in your memories a place, not a house, but a place. For me, it's a place we called the compound, three trailers with a connecting platform, where my cousin Jerry and I wiled away the hours in our preteen years, vast, open spaces outside the chain-link fence that surrounded that compound. Hundreds of square miles of sage brush, cactus, jack rabbits, chipmunks, a dog named Duke, and two burros, Shorty and Fatso. Today, we'd never name a burro Fatso, because it's politically incorrect, but she was round. We didn't know any better.
The place that draws me back, the memories that are as alive today as they were over fifty years ago, center around those trailers, animals, and my aunt, uncle, and cousin with whom I lived every summer. The only child of a single, working mother, I was grateful for three months of absolute freedom to roam. And roam we did. We walked all over the high desert of Southern California. We lay on our backs in the sand and watch Air Force jets maneuver and leave contrails, those magical pathways that took our imaginations to the stars and back. We rode the burros when we got tired.
My cousin and I read voraciously. My aunt and uncle only had a small television set, three channels, all black-and-white. Not much choice if you didn't like game and variety shows, boxing on Friday night, or wrestling on Saturday. We didn't care. We read the library empty of books, many way over our school grade. We grew strong and sturdy, tan with blond streaks in our hair. We were free-range kids before any such term needed to be applied. We just were.
Because those days keep beckoning me, even though my cousin, aunt, and uncle have all passed, I feel compelled to return, perhaps because I'm the last one who remembers. NaNoWriMo is almost on us. I think I'll make this out-of-the-desert story my project.
What draws you home? And are you doing NaNoWriMo with me?
8 comments:
I was a free-range kid, too, in a tiny town with woods all around and a river. We rode our bikes everywhere we went, built forts in the woods, swam in the river, and came home when my dad whistled, long and shrill. I still go back to Gasquet to visit my mom once or twice a year, and walking through town always brings back great memories from my youth. Visit your compound, Betsy, lay in the sand, and enjoy those memories!
I hoped you would end your post by saying you were going to write about it. The memories seem ripe for stories to build upon. I was a city girl. Since you mention summers, my mind was drawn back to hot Phoenix...scalding sidewalks, dusty lots, swamp coolers and afternoon movies, and dusk when it cooled and we hung outside until dark.
I'm happiest where I'm at now. Or perhaps Paris or Berlin. I enjoy walking the busy streets with history all around me. As for NaNo, I'll be too busy writing to meet deadlines to participate. But your childhood stories sound great to incorporate into such a project.
Your memories are so vivid and interesting! Makes me jealous because as an Army brat, I moved with my family every two/three years. I hope kids still get to free-range these days, that a fear-focused media doesn't keep children from exploring without adult supervision. Kids need some alone time for adventures, I'm sure of that. We boomers may be the last to experience the joy of free-ranging. And yes, your recollections should make for a wonderful novel. Go for it!
What beautiful, vivid memories. I was a city kid other than 3 months of my life, when we moved to Missouri. I don't have as many memories as I'd like. I envy people who can so clearly recall so many moments of their childhood. I'm so glad you're writing the story. I never have much success with Nano, but best of luck to you!
Great stories you can use to create your story. I'm, as I say in my author bio, a big city girl turned a country woman. My best summer memories were of time in northern Michigan at my aunt and uncle's cabin on the lake with my cousins and brother and grandparents. Have fun with your NaNo. You have a great start.
I too was a free range kid (child of a single mother), but mine was in the New Jersey suburbs. The neighborhood kids (from about ages 6 to 12) would roam in a pack, and we thought we were pretty fierce. :-) We camped out at each other's houses, not in fancy tents though. We'd spread a blanket on the ground under the clothes line in the back yard, toss another over the line, and voila, instant tent! Or we'd roll sleeping bags on the living room floor. When it rained, we'd hang out inside playing card games or board games. And I read, a lot. Thanks for helping me remember some happy times, Betsy! Your NaNo project sounds terrific!
Good luck, Betsy, with your NaNo project. It sounds perfect. I don't do NaNo. I'd drive Hubs crazy. Besides, I don't write that way--straight through, no going back and fixing. It would drive me crazy. LOL Because we moved so much, my kids thought of my parents' house as home. It was a constant until a year after my dad died and Mom moved into a condo. The house we live in now (it's been four years now) is the best one yet. We helped the builder with the design, and the 1st time I sat down on moving in day, I told Hubs this feels like home. I never felt that way before. I still do.
Post a Comment