99 WORDS...AND A LITTLE BIT MORE
The familiar turn off welcomes me not far from where I want to be. Singing to old favourites coming through the airwaves, the anticipation of my destination bounces through me as I navigate the ruts and pot holes. Two more cattle guard crossings before I continue northwest on the road flanked with aspens and evergreens. I can see the place in my mind. I’ll be greeted by the fenced pasture. In the distance, the hills will dance with colour on their journey to the mountains. This road never fails me. I can count on it to take me home.
My homeland is about ten hours away by car, on the West side of the Rocky Mountains. The option to fly, when available, shortens the travel time by about eight hours. Travel is always weather and road dependent, even when it isn't winter. Needless to say, I am more likely to refer to the place I grew up as ‘where I am from’. It’s not home any more, although my roots sink deep into that part of the country, because it’s where I am from that continually guides me to where I go.
I consider my home to be on the East side of the Rockies. Probably because I have lived here for over four decades. That doesn’t take the way I feel, or how I do things, out of my life. I found new avenues to give me ways to remind me of my growing up years and the towns and people that molded me to who I am today. I can honestly say that going home does not have to be your homeland, or where you grew up. I have no regrets that I no longer call the place I grew up home. Yet, I recognize those places as being an important part of me, and they will always have a place in my heart and a vault full of memories.
Home, as they say, is where you hang your hat and your heart. What I now call home enables me to embrace the lifestyle in which I was raised. Not because it’s how I live, but because I can. I have met and been welcomed by people who I know are life-long friends. Doors are always open (I even have my own key to one or two) and the welcome mat is there to invite me in. When I hear the words, “Welcome home,” my heart sings because I know it to be so.
The photograph in this post is taken from one of those gravel roads that truly makes me feel like I am going home. It gives me a feeling of calm, euphoria, and love, along with a chastising word or two for not going more often.
I consider my home to be on the East side of the Rockies. Probably because I have lived here for over four decades. That doesn’t take the way I feel, or how I do things, out of my life. I found new avenues to give me ways to remind me of my growing up years and the towns and people that molded me to who I am today. I can honestly say that going home does not have to be your homeland, or where you grew up. I have no regrets that I no longer call the place I grew up home. Yet, I recognize those places as being an important part of me, and they will always have a place in my heart and a vault full of memories.
Home, as they say, is where you hang your hat and your heart. What I now call home enables me to embrace the lifestyle in which I was raised. Not because it’s how I live, but because I can. I have met and been welcomed by people who I know are life-long friends. Doors are always open (I even have my own key to one or two) and the welcome mat is there to invite me in. When I hear the words, “Welcome home,” my heart sings because I know it to be so.
The photograph in this post is taken from one of those gravel roads that truly makes me feel like I am going home. It gives me a feeling of calm, euphoria, and love, along with a chastising word or two for not going more often.
| Ann Edall-Robson Author, Photographer, Lover of Life "Capturing moments others may never get to experience.” |
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August 15, 2023, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about the journey home. Who is going home? Or are they in search of a future home or ancestral roots? Think of home as a life lived — adventures, relationships, accumulations. What makes home worth the journey? Go where the prompt leads!
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