It calls to me. As I cross into the Texas border. The landscape has not changed, not yet. My soul knows the Eastward direction. Oklahoma greens. A tick in the ear of my wee one. Arkansas is greener. By the time I cross into Tennessee, I am hearing the song of home. I am helpless. Crossing river after river, hill after hill of lush, green trees. Lushness I have not seen or dared hope for since my last trip Westward.
It’s Virginia. I am home….but not yet. Home but not home. The winding mountain roads without speed limits - the ones you know like the back of your hand. Every turn and dip, every tree and bridge. I don’t know these exact roads, but I know their kind. A deer, the first for my girls. My van glides and soars as I navigate them for the first time. A new home, but still home. Home is not the house. Home is the people. I am here.
It’s people, two I know and one I don’t. But I do know her, know of her kind. She is echoes of the former. She plops down to play with her toys in the same manner. When she’s out of my sight, her lyrical voice can be almost identical. She’s a profile, a glance, a laugh. It’s 1988 and she is 9 again. She plays not with me, but with my own.
It’s a dog I remember and a pony, too. It’s pictures on the wall of ones passed. It’s pictures I remember being taken, it’s picture who’s subjects call to me. Remember me? Silver rolls. How many times did I see Silver roll? If not that time, 100 others. Spin’s back. How many times did I pet it, or see Wendy upon it?
It’s Michael calling me “On-dray-ah” in the way that only he has done, ever. It’s Wendy calling me Andy, like only One other does now. A familiar picture on the wall. A known plate, a bowl I’ve eaten from before. A wicker laundry basket. It’s Wendy talking while she cooks. Michael leaning against the counter and saying “that girl”, meaning the 2nd one now. Or “those girls”, counting mine in the mix, too.
It’s “those girls” on a roan pony named Iota, daughter of another named Sevy. It’s Sevy still in the field, aged; coat all white now. Dappled grey worn away by age, love, time. Lead lines, small saddles, tiny riding hats. It’s Brenley sitting in Iota’s saddle like she’s a natural. And Hailey hesitant but loving it. It’s rain for 18 hours solid without letting up. Wet pant legs, muddy boots, barn coats. Carrots and grain.
It’s hearing horses neigh in the barn. Showing my daughters lightning bugs for the first time. It’s not familiar cats, Peas and Carrots, but now Arthur and Fiona keeping watch out in the yard. Smells that bring back memories. It’s 4 years of my life - the impact on my soul not fully realized until I return. And when I do, it’s like I was not ever gone.
It’s………………..home.
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