The Post Office in Bonnots, Mill, MO. circa 2004.
I always get nervous the night before a trip Home.
I-35 south, swing around Des Moines to IA-163 south, which eventually becomes US-63 south, take a left at Loose Creek, and stop at the bottom of the big hill…before you hit the store. Those are rough directions to my hometown.
I travel the 413 miles back Home an average of 3 times per year: May (once the spring semester is complete), Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Between November 12 and December 7, 2019, I traveled back and forth between Minnesota and Missouri 3 times – first to say goodbye to my dying uncle, next to bury my grandma, and finally to bury my uncle. My car could almost make the trip on autopilot.
It’s hard to decide what to pack for the changing temperatures. Laptop and backpack…because I am a teacher, there is always something to work on. A small selection of books to read. Journal and bullet journal (I am a journal addict). My pillow, ear pods, and Bluetooth speaker. Charging cables for everything. A cooler…because every time I have driven Home without a cooler, I ended up buying one for the trip back. Enough audiobooks and podcast episodes downloaded to my phone to handle 16-18 hours behind the wheel (round trip).
I feel like I am stepping into another world when I return Home. My life is in Austin. I haven’t lived in my hometown since August 1999, when I packed up my blue 1991 Chevy Cavalier and headed off to college. I came Home for Christmas between semesters and a few weeks during the summer after my Freshman year. Other than that, I have lived my adult life at least 150 miles away from my hometown.
Few people call me Catherine here. I haven’t introduced myself as Kate since I started high school in 1995, but I am still Kate (or even Katie) here. It’s hard not to fall into old patterns when you are called an old name.
The family home my great-grandpa Meyer built in 1909 (photo taken circa 2004).
It’s a blast from the past to go back. It’s the same and yet not. My mom, aunt, and uncle all live in the same houses. The family home my great-grandpa Meyer built in 1909 sold last year and looks totally different now. A lot of people have died. I know as many of the residents in the cemetery as I do of the town. People have moved in and out over the past 20 years. My little clan is down three since I moved away from Home – first my stepfather, then my grandma, and most recently, my uncle. We gained a little one 9 years ago.
Most of my friends have moved away, or we have drifted apart over the years. Time, distance, and differences slowly wore through our connection until it was no more.
Main Street Bonnots Mill, MO circa 2004.
Bonnots Mill, MO circa 2004.
I am an adult now. This is a place of my youth – a place I left in my youth. Thomas Wolfe was correct when he said, “You can never go home again.” The Home of our childhood is a physical place during a specific time in our lives. Home is a series of moments, that once past can never be again. When we leave that place and time passes, we lose Home. It is different, and so are we. No matter how we try to bridge that gap, it is a chasm we can never span.
My conundrum is I go to the place I knew as Home, but it’s not really Home, and it can never be again.
© Catherine Haslag
© Catherine Haslag