Home

 M and I spent this past weekend with her sister Paula and her husband, Mike.  After spending their working years primarily in the Little Rock area, they now live in a cabin on a ridge just outside Mountain View, Arkansas.

Located at the end of a gravel road off a dirt road, their place has magnificent views and more importantly, peace and tranquility.  When we are there, one of my favorite things to do is sit in a rocker on their front porch and watch the world go by.  Actually, nothing goes by except some birds, the gentle breeze, a stray dog, and occasional deer.

If I'm out there early in the morning, say before seven, it is not uncommon to see fog in the valley, hear the roosters down the road welcoming in the new day, or one of the mules a bit farther down the road stretching out their lungs.  It is not uncommon, say after midnight, to hear a pack of coyotes walking through the woods, letting the surrounding countryside know they are up and looking for dinner.  Mike, whom I have known since our freshman year at Harding fifty years ago, says hearing multiple coyotes howl at once will make your hair stand up on the back of your head.  It certainly gets your attention.

Did I mention it is just a few miles from White River, where there are plenty of trout waiting to be caught?  After Hilton Head, Mountain View is probably our favorite getaway, and we enjoyed this past weekend immensely.

But changing subjects slightly.  As we were making the 300-mile drive home on Monday afternoon, M and I were chatting about any number of things to pass the time.  Sometimes we listen to Sirius (Classic Vinyl, Beatles Channel or Radio Margaritaville), but other times, we just like to talk, and it really doesn't matter what the topic is.

Now I could pretend I am a family psychologist and extol the many virtues of spousal communication, but I'm not, and besides, almost all of you know that already.  Communication is not only a necessary thing, but also a healthy habit, a must for strong marriages.  

But while we were driving, I asked M if she was enjoying living back in Alabama.  It wasn't a trick question at all, and I think I knew the answer, but wanted to hear what she said.  After all, when we moved to the Shoals in the fall of 2014, M had spent the previous 42 years living in Arkansas.  Things have changed, which she acknowledged as she started telling me her thoughts.  She said moving back to the Shoals took some getting used to, but she was happy to here.  Then she said something I want to dwell on for a bit, she said, "Alabama will always be my home."

She has spent 29 years of her life in Alabama and 42 in Arkansas, and while she admitted she loved Arkansas, made wonderful friends and had great experiences, it wasn't home; Alabama was home.

She then turned the table on me, which surprised me a little, asking me how I liked living in Alabama.  I was honest, I told her I loved living in Alabama, a lot more than I thought I would.  But then she said, "but it's not home is it?"  No M, it's not.  She then answered for me, "Missouri is your home," and she is right, my home is Missouri.  But while I grew up there, unlike my wife, I have no desire to move back there.  I go back frequently and see my mother, who by the way, has a birthday on Thursday the 16th. I love seeing my 102-year-old great Aunt Roxie, perhaps the most amazing woman I've ever known.  She still lives in her home by herself and still cooks!  She has however given up driving.

I subscribe to MLB.com so I can watch the Cardinals, I can watch most Blues games on ESPN+, and watch Mizzou on the SEC Network.  The Weather Channel gives me the forecast every morning.  There is no need to go back.

I turned 68 earlier this summer. Of those 68 years, I spent 33 of them living in Missouri, 21 in Arkansas, 11 in Alabama and three in Florida.  But why is Missouri home for me?  Why is Alabama home for Marilyn?

I have a simple theory.  It is where we grew up.  I believe in our minds, when we think of "home," we think of happy times, times when we were surrounded by family, by friends, by good memories.  Home is where we went to church, grade school, middle school, high school, where we learned to drive, had our first date, our first kiss, and probably, if we are all honest, committed our first misdemeanor.  To my way of thinking, that is where home is, and I spent those young, impressionable years in Missouri.

Growing up, my lifetime friends were almost all from church.  A few are like me, Bruce Chilton, Sam Bates, my brother Barry, Linda Richardson, Sandy Frazier, Paige Staggs, Kim Holland, Kevin Uebelein, Sandy Smith, Leslie Davis.  We all grew up and went to church together in the St. Louis area, but for most of our post high school lives, we left "The Lou," and went to college and had careers elsewhere.  I wonder if I asked each of them, where is your home?  I wonder how many would say Missouri, or where they live now, out-state Missouri, Arkansas or Texas or Alabama or Tennessee or Virginia or Florida.

Home right now is Tuscumbia, Alabama; that is where M and I live.  But home, the home that shaped me, had such an influence on me, well, that home is about 375 miles to the northwest.

Thank you for spending some time with me.  Be kind to each other this week.  See you down the road.