"... where we love is home -- home that our feet can leave but not our hearts..." -- Oliver Wendell Holmes

 This is the house where I grew up, in north Dallas. My folks built it in 1956, so I was two. If you look at aerial photos from the day, our brand-new little neighborhood sticks up like a chimney from the surrounding blackland farms. I remember active farming and the pop of shotguns from nearby dove hunters.

 We moved when I was 13, but not far. Same Jr. High and high school. My sister had to change elementary schools but that's about it. We were in a bigger, newer house but all that really did was expand my social world. 

 I bring this up because I was over in the same general area this past weekend, seeing some friends and picking up a lemon tree. It was a quick trip and in the rain. But I make it a point to drive through periodically. The area has held up mostly well and my elementary school is even being rebuilt on the same real estate. I always smile at that.

 I got to thinking about the idea of "home." So many folks have just one, and too often they can't go back. Be it death, a bulldozer or purchase by a different owner, the physical place just isn't there or isn't available anymore. I feel that loss about our farm in Denton County. But home can just as easily be a feeling, an experience, another person or simply a beloved place where something pleasant or important happened.

 I am lucky enough to have several homes. In no particular order, they are the DFW area, New Orleans, Southern California and the area they call SoGaNoFla. It's the Florida Panhandle, stretching a bit into south Georgia. I don't include Alabama in there. Different vibe. But I include Mobile. Funny how that works. I raised my kids, we sailed and had countless beach days from our base in Tallahassee. Sadly, Florida politics have ruined much it.

 I talk to folks about where they're "from" and either the eyes soften or hackles go up. Not much in between unless they're lucky enough like me to ask, "which one?" So many are, "well, I'm actually from (place they don't like or had no choice like a family move)..." 

 My mom never lived outside Dallas County TX. Born at a facility in Highland Park and raised across Denton Drive from Love Field, she never resided more that five air miles  from her birthplace. While she was curious, well-traveled and had a college degree, I don't think the idea of actually living someplace else ever crossed her mind. My dad, a farm boy from La Grange, was set free by WWII and the GI bill. He was shoved all over the South Pacific during the war and got quite enough time outside Texas, thank you. He came back, got an education, got married, set up a business (he could sell shit to cows) and heeeere we go.

 ...so home is more than just where the hat is, depending on who you are. It's different for each of us, even if we're raised in the same house and neighborhood. Funny sometimes how that works, right? But hell -- we're all still just trying to figure shit out anyway. 

 

"...the ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned..." -- Maya Angelou