Can You Go Home Again?

Expressways and bridges lead to the Northway, followed by narrow winding roads. A lone blinking street light in the country hamlet just south of our destination signals memories of my grandparents, town Fourth of July celebrations, and trick-or-treating.

Every mile between town and my home is as comfortable as a favorite pair of slippers–having walked and biked that path countless times. I take in the Lake Champlain waters, stone walls lining open fields, and my family’s church.

Home again.

I step into the house where my parents raised five children, where they lived, loved, and laughed together until she was taken from us far too soon. Although it’s been over a decade since she’s graced this house in human form, it’s filled with her spirit. Every room in the house reminds me of her, and I’m enveloped in warmth. I miss her so much, but when I’m in this house, it’s almost as if she never left.

Of course, my childhood home holds a myriad of other memories. My little brother and I used to play inside the living room closet and Mom would warn us about pinched fingers. We’d peek around the stairway corner to spy on adults on Christmas Eve. And how I loved to sit on those stairs, my skinny legs over the edge as I read book after book.

I’m glad we traveled north this weekend. Sometimes I need to go back in order to move forward again. I love my Long Island home, with its ocean waters, vineyards, and NYC all within a short distance, but I will forever have a soft spot for the Adirondack Mountains, with its evergreens, birch trees, and rugged hillsides. Like my wise brother-in-law has been known to say, “You can take the girl out of the country, but not the country out of the girl.”