Friday, February 10, 2012

Close Enough To Holler

This town I live in, this small town, dairy town, home town, is my favorite place to live.  I can say that because I've lived in lots of different places.  But even as a child, if you asked me where I was from, I would trace my roots back to this little dot on the map.  The pull of it wrapped around my heart and never let go.

This is the town of my family.  My grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins.  The stories my mom told of her growing up years involved landmarks like Swede Hill and Silvana, Grange Hall dances and berry picking on the Loop.  I would go back to visit my family and I would see those things of fabled glory, and I'd feel a thrill.  This is the place where it all happened.

When I was in high school, my family moved back to town.  I was giddy.  I walked the halls of the same high school my grandparents did.  I had teachers who had taught my parents and aunts and uncles.  And I wanted nothing more than to stay right here.

But, the guy I loved wanted to join the Coast Guard and that meant moving.  He joined, we married, and I moved.  I wouldn't have missed those adventures for anything, but when we had our son, both of our thoughts turned to home, to family and how much we missed them and they missed us.

We left active duty life without a backward glance and moved home, because that is what this town is: home.  We settled in, had a second baby, and thanks to my Mom's everything, we bought our first house.   Five years later, I was walking in our neighborhood and saw a house for sale.  We walked through it, and knew.  This was it.  Our kids will pack us out of here to a nursing home.

So here we live, on a corner lot on a hill where we can see the top of town buildings, look out into the valley, see the dip where the river rolls through.  After a few years, my Mom bought a house two blocks one way from us, my youngest sister bought a house a few blocks the other way.

I live close enough to holler.  And if I'm feeling particularly loud, I'm sure my sister in Seattle can hear me too!

I've slid into home base and the ump has called it.  Safe!

This post inspired by the prompt of the day at NaBloPoMo


  1. Too true! I've often thought if I had an emergency my first call should be to you guys b/c you could get here faster than the police! :)

  2. It is so rewarding to live in a house that has become a home. I have been very "lucky" in that regard, and love my home passionately. It sounds as though you do too.

  3. There was a point in the early 2000s that my one sister, brother and I all lived on the same street. Considering the way we moved around so much as kids, I don't think any of us saw that coming. We have all since moved several times, but we're still in the same town and my brother and I can actually see each other's houses from our front door. It's mostly a comfort. ;)