Home and Back Home Again

To Grow Where We're Planted

I can hardly pretend that I am not amazed to have just completed an 1800 mile round trip with no report of disaster, failure or disappointment.

Not since leaving Virginia for Missouri in late August 2024 have I driven halfway across the country, much less that distance and back again, this time leaving and coming back “home” to Columbia MO.

SIDE NOTE: It was the most comfortable drive of my life, thanks to the 2021 Subaru’s easily adjustable driver’s seat and the driving features lacking in the 2009 Forester I traded in for $1000 in October.

With the purchase of this “new” car with automatic transmission, I will never shift gears again for the first time since 1963. My wife (since the VW in 1970) would not drive anything but a stick shift (yep, go figure) so my right shifting arm and left clutch foot were constantly at the ready.

Now, with cruise control and modern driving features I was released from the frozen postures of fixed appendages never at ease for hundreds of miles. It was a joy!

NOT BOWLING ALONE

And yes, you might have guessed it: I went back to Virginia. Three days getting there, four days being there, and three days back.

As regular readers know, a year ago mid-May wife Ann entered Memory Care, a five minute walk from what had been our apartment, now mine alone. On this date last year, I was bewildered in the days-old freedom to begin life apart.

And now a year later, she has lost so much of herself so that she knows that she knows me but asks if I’m her father. And lately she has started falling. I can’t say what is coming next, only that it will not ever get better for her as the dementia takes more of what was once Ann.

Meanwhile, my health continues to be excellent for a 78 year old, and I have intentions and hopes. And I am not alone. I have a companion just down the hall, and we made this trip together. She’d heard me speak so often of my little village of unique folks in the Blue Ridge that she wanted to see for herself.

It was not a sure thing until it was. So many things can happen at this age (she is four years older than me) when things fall apart one joint or giblet at a time out of nowhere. I was prepared the entire month before to cancel room reservations in five different motels when the plan fell through.

But Saturday May 9 at 8:00 we set out to get beyond Saint Louis in the first leg of a seven hour first-night destination east of Nashville. It was happening after all!

MOVING ALONG GETTING ALONG

My son warned me that “in that many days and miles together there will be at least two times when you will hate each other.” I fully expected that would be true. It never happened.

There were disappointments and surprises that rocked the boat, but we stayed afloat and let the current carry us as it would.

On the trip east, notable was the stay at the Martha Washington Inn in Abingdon, Virginia. This was lodging luxury I’ve only known a time or two over the decades. It was worth it, but likely Frugal Fred will not be indulging in such a way ever again.

Most of our lodging days were at Hotel Floyd, and every lunch and supper for four days was with different friends—with several dozen at a pot luck on Wednesday.

The hardest part was watching the clock for the next planned event and saying goodbye far too soon—especially knowing I might never see these dear age-peers again.

From the Hotel Floyd website—two of my images, the one on the left appears as a 24 x 36 inch print at the end of the first floor hallway. Somebody photoshopped my name on the mailboxx.

SO WHAT’S THE SO WHAT?

Was the trip worth the effort and expense? What purpose did it serve?

It helped me to both embrace and to let go of my history of place—to hold close and to loosen my grip on the landscapes where I lived my best years; to accept that life there goes on without me. This is both reassuring and sobering.

I made ripples on that pond but came back this trip briefly on the outside looking in and leaving no trace. And that had to be okay. I came. I stayed. I left. I will likely never go back.

But at least now I have one other soul here who will remember; another who has shared those people and places with me. She can appreciate my joy in retelling tales—as I often do—of belonging there so completely and for almost 30 years.

I just felt like I had to post this as a benchmark late in life—an accounting of a significant and enjoyable adventure that, one year ago today in my uncertain solitude, I could not have possibly imagined.

Life is still full of surprises. Cheers!