Last Train to Clarkesville
Thomas Wolfe said, "You can't go home again." For the most part, I think he's right. Right in your twenties, your thirties and even your forties. But in the high noon of your life, when you find yourself alone in a big house, and it's the memories that must offer contentment, you remember. However, yesterday, I got out of the big house and took the green Jeep home.
My current project took me to MT. Airy, a small town near Clarkesville where I grew up. MT Airy and its sidekick Cornelia were always where the rich kids lived, so needless to say, most of my friends were not from here. But, Habersham was a small county with one high school, and Clarkesville, Cornelia and MT Airy kids were heaved together in the new Habersham Central which today has been replaced by a newer Habersham Central - conveniently located across the street. At one point, Cornelia turned into MT Airy before you could shift from third to fourth gear. It's the home of Lake Russell, where my daddy (Kimsey) and his brother (Lamar) spent their last afternoon together, fishing. on the way home, Lamar's heart gave out and daddy recovered the truck just in time before the huge oak took his own life.
This is the time to visit the North Georgia Mountains. They are especially beautiful in the fall with the leaves on the verge of turning. Some have let go and whip through the air. I'm not sure what melds with the leaves in the wind, but I know it's enchantment and my memory explodes.
I hopped in the car with Susan, headed to a girls Halloween party at the Lewellen's house way back in the woods. I tagged along with daddy to the trout stream after he watched the county truck go by to stock the river. I played pretend-baseball with Ricky in the front yard, often opting to be the cheerleader so I could run (my first dramatic role) to him when he was hurt. I watched mama skillfully sew my new dress on her mama's pedal Singer and then turn the reigns over to me so I could learn, too. I walked behind daddy in the fields, dropping corn as he guided Besse the mule in the straight-and-narrow. I ran up and down the front sidewalk after daddy added it so mama wouldn't have to get her feet wet walking to the mailbox. I helped daddy plant the magnolia by the garage apartment and wondered how in the world that little thing could possibly be a tree.
That sidewalk went on forever years ago; it seemed like that magnolia tree never grew. Perception is everything, I suppose. Today, I look with grown-up eyes and mountains of experience, longing to return to running up and down that walkway, or to become that child whose daddy was superman and the master of my happiness. I miss them so much it hurts. I miss the simplicity that comes along with mountain living. I miss the learning experience I had each and every day of growing up - I wish I realized then how rich I was.
Yes, Thomas, you can go home again for God has provided mankind with a beautiful memory-machine for moments when yesterday is out of reach. I can go home again, and I will, every chance I get.
Original Post | October 23, 2013
