We turned down the dirt road--clay road thanks to the constant rain-- that meandered into its own domain and I fell in love. The green trees, the windy roads, the fresh wild lilac all beckoned to my soul. It was idyllic and a perfect place to grow up.
Here are a few pictures. Some are ruins and others are pieces of land where the houses should have been. The first pic is where she was born and the last is her city house when they moved to "town" while she was in high school.
Nana told some childhood stories while we literally drove down memory lane. My favorite was of her and her best friend, mere kids (12, I think) walking miles to their job at the canning company. She said the company had to fire them because apparently child labor was becoming frowned upon. She hated quitting because she loved being able to buy new clothes with her money.
My Grandad threw in some stories as well, including walking all the way to Kingston to see his aunts. He said he didn't know how many miles it was, but that it literally took all day. Grandad is just the jolliest, most patient fella, I wish I could have known him way back then, too.
I've thought a lot about story and how important it is to pass story on to your children and their children and their children. Even Deuteronomy talks about the importance of this. I think it is the revelation of who God is that ultimately gets passed down in the every day retelling of story.
I've been reading a lot of books lately on how to write. Let me save you the money and the time. Here goes: Sit down. Write.
Now, I know how crazy simple that sounds but it just about boils down to that.
If I think things have to be perfect, then I will never begin. If I compare myself to others, then I will throw in the towel.
Just sit down. Write. Your kids and grandkids and great grandkids will love you for it.
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