Like many people in Sedalia, I’m not that thrilled about the fair. Oh, yes, I’ve enjoyed concerts, walking through the exhibits, working at the Missouri Coop Building, and have spent countless hours on the midway while I kept an eye on the young ones in the family. I have great memories, good memories, and wish-I-was-home-under-the-air-conditioner memories.
The first night of the fair this year was pleasant, but I was too exhausted to consider going. Since then, the weather has ranged from hot to bake-a-cake hot. Then, there’s the occasional thunderstorm. Oh, yes, we can be in the middle of a drought, but you can count on rain during the fair.
One of the first things that crossed my mind with “Come Home” was the exact feeling I always had when Jim and I drove into Estes Park. We went to Rocky Mountain National Park each year, and although some things changed from year-to-year, the predominant emotion was a sense of homecoming.
Along with the eventual changes in Estes Park were the inevitable changes in Jim. Our first trips, we spent camping, hiking, and going to the Lazy-B Ranch for music and a delicious meal. The last few times, we stayed in a cabin, and I watched Jim lose the ability to camp and hike. It was the end of an era for us.
While Jim was in the nursing home, I made a trip to Estes Park with my mom, sister, and sister-in-law. I hadn’t been to the mountains for several years. It was like coming home to a different house. Everything had changed so much physically and emotionally. Several of my favorite shops had closed, the visitor’s center had grown into a huge hub of activity, and the Lazy-B Ranch was no longer in existence. I didn’t have Jim to cook a campfire breakfast, to sneak treats to “Chubby” the chipmunk, or to sit around the campfire and tell tall tales.
We all know that everything changes through the years, even our home. We may long for the familiar home of our memories and to see loved ones who live in the homes of our hearts, but are no longer with us.
Home is where our stories began and where we became who we are. It doesn’t matter if we lived in a shack long ago and now live in a mansion. There is a chunk of our being that is wrapped in the recollections of our beginnings.
Home. The word isn’t just any old word. Home is a word that entails a visual image in 3-D, complete with smells and sounds. Memories of home can be good or bad for a lot of reasons. Regardless, it is a big part of each of us. The lessons we learn from our parents mingle with our DNA to mold us into the adults we become later in life.
Copyright © August 2019 by L.S. Fisher