and couldn't relate to at all.
halfway through the first verse I had tears in my eyes and emotions flooded
my mind.
It made me thoughtful, sad, nostalgic and grateful. hours passed and I couldn't stop thinking. about this song...that girl, and the sentiment of home.
is home where your family is or where your mama may be?
where you are comfortable & content?
...an evolving combination of all these things?
or is home the house?
the house that holds memories sweet and bitter, old and new.
memories that span decades and moments filed away, easily forgotten.
is it the structure that watched me grow and led me back?
is it my safe place and my launching pad
when my parents gave me wings?
is it the structure and the sweet ones inside
that I think of daily, appreciate endlessly and what holds the truest part of me?
it is...I know it is.
it's the house that built me.
I know these question have infinite answers, none of which are
right or wrong
but I found myself caught up in the structure, the place that holds
my dad, mama, brother and sisters
friends and family,
all of them.
home is 180 years old and nestled in rural west Georgia
on a hill in the valley in the heart of Frolona.
home is the peak of the roof you see coming down the hill,
I let off the gas and smile real big
swing out of the curve and up the drive.
home is what's inside those doors
the century old pine floors, the doorways that are too short,
the kitchen table and that front porch.
home is the house and the history it holds
five generations, sharecroppers and storytellers.
soldiers that walked out the back door and walked in to
world wars.
home is the gathering place
twenty two years of a thanksgiving tradition
and the only home I've ever known.
there come those times every now and then when I call my folks and say
I just need a heaping dose
a dose of home, that front porch and them
it's the time when I need to sit on that porch and see the stars
play with the mutts and in the dirt
I need a dose of my roots...that structure, that place
...the house that built me
and while I try to articulate the void of home I sometimes feel
the words in the bridge of this sweet song seem to convey it so well:
you leave home, you move on and you do the best you can
I got lost in this whole world and forgot who I am.
we've all got our own stories of the place we've grown
the location of that structure and the memories they hold. creating a life outside of those walls, raising a family and making memories of our own.
no matter how far those memories are filed away...we'll always think back
to that one place. yearn for that place and remember that place
...the house that built me.
*song starts at 1:20
photo: clare barboza
3 comments:
Great post! You had me really thinking about what I consider "home" and I believe that I have two homes-the one that I grew up in that will always be "home" to me and the one I live in now, in which I'm still growing, learning and making memories in each and every day. Although, I do get such a peaceful, calm feeling when I do go back to my "original" home. There's just something about going back to your mama that is just reassuring.
Yep, you did it again! Awesome post that, once again, made me cry. You just seem wise beyond your years to recognize and appreciate 'the basics'. Thanks!
Your old family home is certainly enchanting. {I could LIVE on the floor beside that magnificent bookcase!} But, I know what you mean by a good dose of home. Sometimes, I need a dose just to bring me back down to earth, and my family always knows exactly what to do. Thanks for the contemplative post, La!
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