I grew up in a small town in Upstate New York. No stoplights. Just a 4-way stop separating the 4 roads leading to town. The Modern Market on one corner…the oldest grocery store in town. Many of the people working there have been there since I was old enough to buy TV dinners on Friday night. The Gas Station on the other corner is new…but in name only. When I was young it was called the “Busy Bee.” I used to buy slices of pizza when I could find enough spare change. The actual pizza place is on the adjacent corner. Now known as “Giuseppe’s,” it was once a Barber Shop. Ed Carrigan was the town barber. I lived just 2 houses down and waved to him as I passed by on my way to school each day. Next to him was the “Shoeshine Man.” He was the local cobbler. I can’t remember his name, but he was an older fella who paid my girlfriend and I to go across the street and buy him cigarettes…. something that would surely be frowned upon today lol!
I can’t count the number of times I’ve been “home” since leaving at the age of 16. I was in such a hurry to leave it never dawned on me that one day I would appreciate the very things that sent me packing. The fresh country air, crisp laundry hanging on the line, lush green vegetation as far as you can see, the rolling cornfields so ripe you can practically smell them from the road. Why would I run from such a beautiful place? The simple answer is you always want what you don’t have. I longed to trade the simplicity of country life for the big city. I wanted more than my small town could offer. It seemed like everyone was content to marry, have children and fade into the scenery. That wasn’t me. I wanted to stand out. Be heard. I did not want a “cookie cutter” life. I judged them for not wanting more. Maybe they knew something I didn’t….
As we pulled through town ready for a week of camping at the local state park, I wasn’t expecting a nostalgic trip down memory lane to be a part of my journey. I’ve been back so many times and while I appreciate everything about my hometown, something felt a little different this time. There was someone else living in the house I grew up in. It was the place where I used to swing on a tire swing hanging from the willow tree. The playhouse that my father built me that’s still standing. The balance beam he made from a 2×4 and carpet even though I wasn’t built for gymnastics. My friend’s house 2 doors down. I would pick her up for school each day so we could walk together even though technically I lived closer to school. On cold winter days I would sit on the radiator in her kitchen listening to “WHEN” radio waiting to hear them say, “Cayuga County Schools are Closed.” Most of the time that wish didn’t come true even with a foot of snow on the ground. But we would listen 2 or 3 times before begrudgingly heading off to school. My neighbor who lived next door my entire life…no longer with us. His home now up for sale. These are all things that happened over time. Nothing new. For some reason it just played out like a black and white movie reel from another time as I drove through the old neighborhood…
The Summer Rec program is held at the state park where we were camping. The kids were running and playing like children used to: Kickball, tag, swimming, painting faces…no iPads or devices. My Mother used to “sign me up” for rec as a solution to a summer babysitter. That didn’t exactly work out as she planned. I hated organized fun. I would walk to Rec and then turn around and come home after she left for work. I preferred to watch “Days of Our Lives” over kids and kickball. Her fault. She was the Soap Opera Queen! I was addicted by proximity. I lived a whole world outside of Rec. I would fix myself a bologna sandwich on Wonder Bread with a Velveeta cheese slice & mustard, throw in some chips and grape Kool-Aide to wash it down. The best! That is until my brother ratted me out by calling my mom at work to tell her I was skipping Rec. He wore the grape Kool-Aide that afternoon! We often played kickball in our yard with the neighborhood kids. I can still hear my dad yelling, “Don’t hit the red fence!” The only trouble we had could be heard as our parents yelled for us to come inside when it got dark and we chose to disobey in hopes of one more minute of night air and fireflies.
As we drove away after a long week of camping with family and friends, I found myself wanting to lie in the middle of the green fields and rest. I wanted to pick wildflowers and hang my laundry on the line. I wanted to leave my window open at night and smell the fresh country air. I wanted to pick berries and can veggies for the winter. I wanted to sit by the bonfire and listen to the coyotes sing. I had to smack myself back to reality. My life is here at the beach. Where the summer air is as heavy as a wet blanket and the bugs are as big as small chilren’s. The fields aren’t green and the laundry would never dry if hung on the line. Don’t even think about a bonfire until October! Yet so many would love what I have. I can walk to the beach. I can jump in the boat and spend lazy summer days on the water followed by an outside shower to wash away the salt. Cocktails on the screen porch as we sweat out the summer heat with friends. Could I go back to the place where it all began and be happy with the simple life? I fear not. I need salt air and chaos to round out my days. A simple, slower lifestyle is best appreciated if it’s not your everyday life. The quiet would eventually undo me. They say you shouldn’t live where you vacation. So, I live at the beach and vacation where my soul is fed. A big shoutout to all the friends, family and people that make coming home magical…keep the lights on for me!
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