How Long is the Road
Since 2003, when I moved away from Harwood, Texas, I've been back to visit family only a few times each year. The reasons for my leaving my childhood hometown were sound and I have no regrets, and though six years away have brought me back only a dozen times or so, I have visited Harwood more times in the passed two weeks than I have in the passed two years.
The road between my house and Grandma's house is long, winding and rough. It passes through two small Texas towns with miles of two-lane old Texas roadway in between. Over hills, around curves, passed cattle, horses and chicken farms; it takes about an hour to get to Grandma's house. It is such a chore to get all of the kids ready to go; snacks, diapers and wipes, a movie to watch on the way, a bottle for the baby, and don't forget the football and air-soft guns... it is a long road between here and Grandma's house, and when we get there, we all need something to do after the first few minutes of visiting in the small front room of the old stick built house.
The boys like to place sticks and rocks on the railroad tracks that run through town a block from Grandma's house. They shouldn't do it... but you know boys. I don't try to stop them. I used to do that when I was a kid. I swear those empty box cars were there the last time we came.
In Grandma's freezer are a half dozen types of ice cream and popsicles. Now and then a little one will whisper in my ear, "Can we have some, yet?" to which I reply, "Not until we get ready to go... now go play."
"I don't care, Sally. Let them have some," says Grandma.
"No, Mom. They can wait," I always say.
When it's time to get ready for the trip home, she always says, "Let them eat as much as they want, Sally. I don't need to have all that ice cream in there." But the next time we come, she has more. That's OK with the kids. They eat all they want every time and that magical freezer never fails to supply endless ice cream and popsicles.
It is such a long ride home. There are a couple of alternate routes, though. One way the kids like to travel is by way of "Ivy Switch". It is a dirt and gravel road that travels parallel to the rail road track for several miles. If you travel just about 50 miles per hour over one particular place on that road, heading north, you can almost catch air coming up out of a low place in the road. The kids call it the 'bump road'. One time, last summer, we were coming home from Harwood and I took Ivy Switch. After somebody hit their head on the ceiling of the van, I told the kids the next two times we came to see Grandma, we were not going to come home via the bump road because somebody didn't wear their seat belt.
"Awe! No fair! It wasn't me, though! Dad-gum-it, Levi!"
"Too bad! Next time look out for each other and make sure everybody has on a seat belt."
What a long drive. Coming the last few miles between Lockhart and Kyle, the last trip over, I was pulled over for speeding. Did that officer know what a day it had been? He asked me why I was coming this way from Harwood. I told him it was faster than going the main road... he said it was only faster because I was speeding. Very funny. A warning, I hoped? Of course not. It's been a while since I took defensive driving, anyway.
Funny, driving to Harwood today... I don't remember the road so much. Most of the kids are in school today. Only two little ones in car seats and they weren't very fussy. The little country community seemed so dreary in the mist of an overcast morning. I drove an hour to see my niece, whom I haven't seen for a few years. She came all the way from Arizona. I wonder how many more trips to Harwood I will make to see family?
I visited my sister and niece for an hour, then drove the hour home. I was home before lunch time. I don't understand how I got there, visited and got home before lunch... it usually seems to consume the whole day to make a trip to Harwood. Strange.
Driving through the cemetery on the way out of town, seeing the dirt heaped high, thinking of the empty freezer in my sister's barn, wondering how those lonely box cars always seem to be stopped in time on the tracks in Harwood, Texas... I feel lonely driving away toward home. It is a long road home.
The road between my house and Grandma's house is long, winding and rough. It passes through two small Texas towns with miles of two-lane old Texas roadway in between. Over hills, around curves, passed cattle, horses and chicken farms; it takes about an hour to get to Grandma's house. It is such a chore to get all of the kids ready to go; snacks, diapers and wipes, a movie to watch on the way, a bottle for the baby, and don't forget the football and air-soft guns... it is a long road between here and Grandma's house, and when we get there, we all need something to do after the first few minutes of visiting in the small front room of the old stick built house.
The boys like to place sticks and rocks on the railroad tracks that run through town a block from Grandma's house. They shouldn't do it... but you know boys. I don't try to stop them. I used to do that when I was a kid. I swear those empty box cars were there the last time we came.
In Grandma's freezer are a half dozen types of ice cream and popsicles. Now and then a little one will whisper in my ear, "Can we have some, yet?" to which I reply, "Not until we get ready to go... now go play."
"I don't care, Sally. Let them have some," says Grandma.
"No, Mom. They can wait," I always say.
When it's time to get ready for the trip home, she always says, "Let them eat as much as they want, Sally. I don't need to have all that ice cream in there." But the next time we come, she has more. That's OK with the kids. They eat all they want every time and that magical freezer never fails to supply endless ice cream and popsicles.
It is such a long ride home. There are a couple of alternate routes, though. One way the kids like to travel is by way of "Ivy Switch". It is a dirt and gravel road that travels parallel to the rail road track for several miles. If you travel just about 50 miles per hour over one particular place on that road, heading north, you can almost catch air coming up out of a low place in the road. The kids call it the 'bump road'. One time, last summer, we were coming home from Harwood and I took Ivy Switch. After somebody hit their head on the ceiling of the van, I told the kids the next two times we came to see Grandma, we were not going to come home via the bump road because somebody didn't wear their seat belt.
"Awe! No fair! It wasn't me, though! Dad-gum-it, Levi!"
"Too bad! Next time look out for each other and make sure everybody has on a seat belt."
What a long drive. Coming the last few miles between Lockhart and Kyle, the last trip over, I was pulled over for speeding. Did that officer know what a day it had been? He asked me why I was coming this way from Harwood. I told him it was faster than going the main road... he said it was only faster because I was speeding. Very funny. A warning, I hoped? Of course not. It's been a while since I took defensive driving, anyway.
Funny, driving to Harwood today... I don't remember the road so much. Most of the kids are in school today. Only two little ones in car seats and they weren't very fussy. The little country community seemed so dreary in the mist of an overcast morning. I drove an hour to see my niece, whom I haven't seen for a few years. She came all the way from Arizona. I wonder how many more trips to Harwood I will make to see family?
I visited my sister and niece for an hour, then drove the hour home. I was home before lunch time. I don't understand how I got there, visited and got home before lunch... it usually seems to consume the whole day to make a trip to Harwood. Strange.
Driving through the cemetery on the way out of town, seeing the dirt heaped high, thinking of the empty freezer in my sister's barn, wondering how those lonely box cars always seem to be stopped in time on the tracks in Harwood, Texas... I feel lonely driving away toward home. It is a long road home.
Comments
Post a Comment