My first journey away from home was at the age of 11, in 1955. It had been a long, hot summer, which I had spent helping my oldest sister with her new baby. I didn't know how homesick I was until they dropped me off in front of our house.
I stood with suitcase in hand at the gate of the white picket fence. An excitement mounted inside me. I wanted to run up the sidewalk, jump up the step onto the front porch, open the door and holler "Mama"! Instead, I walked slowly so I wouldn't miss any of the sights of home. The green bird bath still sat beside my climbing tree, a wasp buzzed around the large tree with our tire swing, the metal chairs and swing were on the porch for evening sitting.
The heat of the afternoon was suffocating. Perspiration made my dress feel sticky-damp. As I stepped into the living room the air turned cool and crisp making my wet dress feel cooler. I lingered to let my eyes adjust to the room's darker light. The house was quiet except for the hum of Mama's large fan sitting in the west window where the large, old trees shaded and cooled that side of the house. The dark green tile floor shone from layers of wax; the green walls almost matched. Even though my mother wasn't home, the house was surrounded by the feel of her.
The moment was broken when my older sister Betty burst through the kitchen door to greet me, but the feelings lingered on
I grew up and moved to Lee's Summit, MO and every time I returned home, as I drove those curvy Arkansas roads, the excitement mounted up in me as if I were 11 years old again. I told Mama, "don't ever sell this house so I can always come home."
When my step-father died and my mother remarried, she felt she had to ask my permission to sell the home. Then came the day my sisters, their husbands, a nephew and I worked on the house to get it ready for sell. After everyone left at the end of the day I lingered a little longer. When Mama came to get me, we walked through the house for the last time. I told her I wished I could have a couple more days to work on her so she would be in perfect shape.
Now, when I go see Mama, I always swing by to see the home place in Gravette. It's getting older, seems smaller, but I still remember the feeling of the beautiful home of my childhood days. Then I whiz on down the road to Mama's new house and I realize the warmth of home is wherever my mother lives.