You Really Can Go Home Again...

You really can go home again...

...Even if home is not quite the same.

It's a nice, warm Sunday afternoon. Of course, when I say "warm" that really means hot enough to melt the rubber on your tires down to the rims...a typical South Texas summer day. This ain't Phoenix, friends...it's not a dry heat. In fact, the air has a suffocating molasses thickness that discourages all but the most foolhardy from venturing from their air-conditioned cocoons.

Speaking of foolhardy, that naturally brings to mind Rick and Sandy. We decide it's the perfect occasion to visit my dad's childhood home in McMahan, Texas.

Grandfather Riley, and his wife Myrtle, raised my dad Monroe (known by his middle name Hulon) and a flock of brothers and sisters. Thelma May (b 1911), Roy Lafayette, Willie Missouri, Monroe Hulon (b August 1915), Glenn Randolf (b January 1917), Anthia Thira (b April 1919), Cynthia Eliza (b 1921), Beatrice Illine (b 1922), Mattie Evelyn (b 1925), and George Marlon (b 1927) made up the clan. The snapshot above is the family homestead.

A few miles down the road was the general store, still standing (although it's sadly no longer a country store). It's some kind of nightspot, now:

When I was a child, this store was still open with its barrels of staple foodstuffs. It didn't survive the advent of convenience stores, big grocery chains, and Walmart. If we're truly looking at the long downslope of peak oil, as geologists claim, maybe the general store will make a comeback.

Right across the street from the general store was the McMahan post office, which along with the Baptist Church formed the backbone of depression-era small town Texas.

Fill 'er up, and check the oil.

Just up the hill is the Bethel Primitive Baptist Church (my Mom, who attended the "regular" Baptist Church, called them "Hardshells"). The Hardshells sang traditional shaped-note hymns without accompaniment, and Bethel still hosts groups such as the Sacred Harp Singers who keep the tradition alive.

Next to the Bethel Church is the Jeffrey Cemetery, the final resting place of my father and mother, my brother Michael, and in due course my own.

In the end, we really do return home.