The land has to look differently from the vantage point of mature adulthood than it did when you were still a wet behind the ears little kid and saw unexplored adventure around every boulder or unexplored parcel of land. What would it be like, not only to re-explore it in adulthood, but to have the sense that "this land is mine?”
Think about what that would be like. I’ve often wondered when I’ve visited in a place that has stood the test of time, “If wall’s could talk, what stories would they tell?” If at the age of 69 or 70, you are surrounded by the walls of your childhood, you don’t have to guess about the stories. For the most part, you’ve lived through them. Those stories were instrumental in fabricating the many dimensions of who you are. Sure, they don’t represent the totality of all that you’ve experienced and embraced, but they are substantive in your grounding and the totality of your existence. They represent a place with a special name. It is a place called “home”.
Thomas Wolfe wrote a book entitled: “You Can’t Go Home Again”. For him that was true. Thomas couldn’t go home again and the reason was of his own doing. I’ve always heard that a man shouldn’t burn bridges. Thomas Wolfe apparently failed to learn or remember that lesson. He wrote down the stories that most people tried to forget and subsequently published them in a book. I don’t recall if the book made the bestseller list, but it put Thomas Wolfe on everyone’s list whose stories were shared in his book. It was not a pretty picture. Of course, neither were their stories.
There is something about the concept of family secrets that become public record that can negate one’s sense of welcome in returning home. That is particularly true if you are the blabbermouth that didn’t know when things were better left unsaid. My mother would have expressed it like this: “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all”.
I think I have read all of Pat Conroy’s books. The books are a good read, but they are a little too autobiographical for likings of his siblings. The same was true for his parents during their lifetime. The upside of Conroy’s becoming a famous author was diminished in the shattering of relationships in his family of origin. At the end of the day, you still have to look at yourself in the mirror. If you’ve offended the people in your life that should be most important, the price of admission to become a famous writer overshadowed prudent judgment.
Because Thomas Wolfe chose to write stories thought to be secret and make them public, they were subsequently impossible to either hide from or forget. “Oh yeah, Thomas Wolfe burned lots of bridges”.
Neither of my friends who now make their home in what previously was their childhood home made that kind of mistake. Perhaps they both longed for the good old days or for the sense of comfort of finally being home again. Consequently, they both longed for the familiarity of what once had been. Like I said, both of my friends grew up on a farm/ranch environment and were seasoned to honor the land, their heritage and the people with whom they shared life.
Both of my friends are not strangers to the concept of hard work. Like I said, they grew up in a ranch and farm environment and they didn’t shy away from the household chores that covered acres and acres of land. In the midst of their golden years, they still maintain that same resolve. If there is work to be done, they do it.
On Tuesday, I talked to the wife of one of my former roommates in college. He is one of my friends who has now returned to the place that goes back as far as he can remember. He and his wife are going to be in the Austin area the next three or four days and we’re looking forward to reconnecting after all these years. I can hardly wait.
My friend’s wife said of her husband. “He is now retired, but he really isn’t retired. He’s got to get back home by Monday to plant hay next week. He also leases the land for cattle to graze. He has some chores related to that. He also still preaches when provided opportunity. He stays busy. He goes to church every time the doors are open and he never misses a community meeting. He stays really busy. She then added as a caveat, “If he is underfoot, I usually tell someone to stop by and take him fishing.”
It has been at least forty-six years since we’ve last seen each other. At some level, I don’t know what to expect. I think of him as he looked forty-six years ago. He isn’t going to look the same now as he looked then. Of course, I tell myself that I do, but I don’t. I don’t look anything like I looked forty-six years ago. I guess that you could say that I’ve grown up and out. Of course, if you say that, you may be on shaky ground. I’m not sure what that means, but it could be a subtle threat. Probably not, but maybe? Be careful not to burn bridges.
All My Best!
Don