I have been putting this blog post off for several weeks. And at first, it just seemed that I had other things that I wanted to post first. However, I've been realizing that I've simply been putting it off and pretending that it's for reasons other than the truth.
The truth is...this post makes me melancholy.
Several weeks ago, we drove north to visit my grandparents. Although we hadn't planned it (and I hadn't wanted to), we drove past where I used to live. I had my camera in hand, as I always do, and I took pictures. I uploaded those images and processed them. And I stared...
It's not my home anymore.
Elements are still there, surely. But it's not the same place, not the same landscape.
Perhaps the saying is true, that you can't go home again.
Or perhaps there's another sentiment that is more accurate. Perhaps it is truly a matter of "Home is where the heart is." My memories may have some of their roots on the old farm, but my heart dwells elsewhere now...
All My Memories, Neat Little Rows
Not Always Like This
It's all changed. Gone is the cornfield where we once got "lost". Gone is the silt bank that I once watched one of my cousins climb despite being told we were not allowed to play there. Gone are the paths where we used to go sledding on without sleds.
But. But I don't need to see the farm literally as it once was to still see the farm as it was. My memory does a fine job in conjuring back my childhood home.
A Glimpse of Home
Home is where your heart is. Your memories are where your childhood lives forever.