I keep having these vivid dreams where I'm back in my hometown, seeing people long gone, and spending time in their houses. But when I wake up, they're gone, and I feel the loss of them all over. I can feel my visceral need to be in those places, with their familiar smells and furniture, but realistically, all those places are gone. My grandparents are gone. My favorite aunt is gone. I'm getting ready to hopefully bring life into this world, and all of my closest extended family aren't here for me to share it with.
Last night, I dreamed of my Aunt Becky's house: the massive attic that I loved exploring, the back porch with the extra refrigerator and washer and dryer, the soft, overstuffed couches that I slept in so many mornings, and the smell of the blankets I wrapped myself in. Even after all this time, six years this December, I still miss her.
I miss that she never judged me but always clearly cared for me. Her soft, understanding eyes would smile at me each day I worked with her at her daycare. My aunts and uncles always worried about her weight, but I never cared. I'd always known her this way, and to me, it was just how she was. She would open up to me about how her father treated her sometimes, and I could relate with the problems I had with my own dad. I always felt welcome and could stop by almost any time. I really do miss that.
I wonder if we ever stop really missing people. Sometimes I forget the pain for a period of time, but that place they had in my life never really fills itself. I love where I live and my job, but I can't help but feel terribly homesick lately. I miss the familiar places and faces. I don't want to live in Logansport, but I don't know if I'll ever quite feel like I'm from Red Wing. I'm not a Minnesotan, not really. I'm from Indiana, born and raised, on flatlands, fields, and brought up out of a poor, working-class town.
However, it's weird because now that I've been gone so long, I don't think I really fit in at home either. Brett and I have grown out of our upbringing in Logansport and Royal Center, where our school was, but we don't really belong there either. I don't know if we belong anywhere really; it's just us against the world. My husband is my best friend, and without him, I'd never make it here. Still, sometimes it gets awful lonely.
Sometimes the things I miss are simple like language. I miss the words my family and others use for foods and things we know. It's a culture, and I used to hate it because everyone in Logansport seemed so unhappy, and a lot of that is still true. However, the culture of that place is how a people in a dying town keep going despite harsh odds. Many of them work long hours, live in houses falling apart, and somehow, they must keep their family afloat.
I love the bluffs of the Mississippi, but sometimes I miss the wide open spaces of home and how the summer storms could be seen for miles coming across the fields. That feeling of the wind picking up made me feel powerful as a little girl as if nature and I were linked. Then, the downpour would begin, and often, my family would stand in the garage watching it, enamored with the sound and the spectacle. Nowadays, I fear storms because the hilly bluffs and poor drainage sometimes makes my basement flood.
I miss going to get a slushie down at a local ice cream stands, burger joints, and root beer drive-ins. I miss swimming out under the stars on a hot, still summer night; the humidity pressing against my body like an old friend, now manageable in the cooler temperatures. I miss watching the sun rise and feeling the temperature pick up as the day becomes warm on summer days, and knowing that it will feel great once we jump in the pool with a cold drink.
Sometimes we would spend all day in the pool, forgetting our troubles and our list of things to do for a little while.
My childhood had a lot of bad in it, but still, it's my history and it's what makes me who I am. Now that I'm growing life inside, I want to share my past with him or her someday - the good parts at least. But it'll be different, their hometown will be Red Wing, but by virtue of being our kid, they will never probably be a true Minnesotan. Brett and I just aren't the skiing, snowboarding, ice-fishing, and hunting type of people whereas most of the people I know here are. He or she will be entirely different in some ways from us because his or her childhood will be different, apart from where we went to school. That is why Brett and I have so much in common.
It'll probably seem strange and unfamiliar to our child.
I'm terribly homesick, but I'm starting to wonder. Where exactly is home?
Last night, I dreamed of my Aunt Becky's house: the massive attic that I loved exploring, the back porch with the extra refrigerator and washer and dryer, the soft, overstuffed couches that I slept in so many mornings, and the smell of the blankets I wrapped myself in. Even after all this time, six years this December, I still miss her.
I miss that she never judged me but always clearly cared for me. Her soft, understanding eyes would smile at me each day I worked with her at her daycare. My aunts and uncles always worried about her weight, but I never cared. I'd always known her this way, and to me, it was just how she was. She would open up to me about how her father treated her sometimes, and I could relate with the problems I had with my own dad. I always felt welcome and could stop by almost any time. I really do miss that.
I wonder if we ever stop really missing people. Sometimes I forget the pain for a period of time, but that place they had in my life never really fills itself. I love where I live and my job, but I can't help but feel terribly homesick lately. I miss the familiar places and faces. I don't want to live in Logansport, but I don't know if I'll ever quite feel like I'm from Red Wing. I'm not a Minnesotan, not really. I'm from Indiana, born and raised, on flatlands, fields, and brought up out of a poor, working-class town.
However, it's weird because now that I've been gone so long, I don't think I really fit in at home either. Brett and I have grown out of our upbringing in Logansport and Royal Center, where our school was, but we don't really belong there either. I don't know if we belong anywhere really; it's just us against the world. My husband is my best friend, and without him, I'd never make it here. Still, sometimes it gets awful lonely.
Sometimes the things I miss are simple like language. I miss the words my family and others use for foods and things we know. It's a culture, and I used to hate it because everyone in Logansport seemed so unhappy, and a lot of that is still true. However, the culture of that place is how a people in a dying town keep going despite harsh odds. Many of them work long hours, live in houses falling apart, and somehow, they must keep their family afloat.
I love the bluffs of the Mississippi, but sometimes I miss the wide open spaces of home and how the summer storms could be seen for miles coming across the fields. That feeling of the wind picking up made me feel powerful as a little girl as if nature and I were linked. Then, the downpour would begin, and often, my family would stand in the garage watching it, enamored with the sound and the spectacle. Nowadays, I fear storms because the hilly bluffs and poor drainage sometimes makes my basement flood.
I miss going to get a slushie down at a local ice cream stands, burger joints, and root beer drive-ins. I miss swimming out under the stars on a hot, still summer night; the humidity pressing against my body like an old friend, now manageable in the cooler temperatures. I miss watching the sun rise and feeling the temperature pick up as the day becomes warm on summer days, and knowing that it will feel great once we jump in the pool with a cold drink.
Sometimes we would spend all day in the pool, forgetting our troubles and our list of things to do for a little while.
My childhood had a lot of bad in it, but still, it's my history and it's what makes me who I am. Now that I'm growing life inside, I want to share my past with him or her someday - the good parts at least. But it'll be different, their hometown will be Red Wing, but by virtue of being our kid, they will never probably be a true Minnesotan. Brett and I just aren't the skiing, snowboarding, ice-fishing, and hunting type of people whereas most of the people I know here are. He or she will be entirely different in some ways from us because his or her childhood will be different, apart from where we went to school. That is why Brett and I have so much in common.
It'll probably seem strange and unfamiliar to our child.
I'm terribly homesick, but I'm starting to wonder. Where exactly is home?
Great post. I miss the Midwest, too. Grew up in a small town in Northwest Ohio, so I know exactly what you mean about the summer thunderstorms, the views looking out over the fields, swimming in the ponds and pools, the humidity, etc. And the people. There's a friendliness there; last time I was back, some guy on a lawn tractor waved as I walked by on the bike path; I have no idea who he was. That happens a lot there.
ReplyDeleteYea, I wouldn't move back to my hometown, but that region is still the place I call home. After 4 decades in the sun-burnt, survival-of-the-fittest West, I can't wait to move back.
Where we're from (the Heartland) is special. John Mellencamp sings about it. It still calls to us.
Again, I really enjoyed reading your thoughts about home. Best of luck to you!