Over the thanksgiving holidays we went down to my parents house in Texas. It had been quite a while since I had been home, although my daughter spent some time there this summer.
Realistically since I left I have been running from my home. Not my parents, or my actual house, but the community and the mindset. Of course there were things I missed, and still do. In fact, I often refer to myself as a proud ex-pat. I adore my home state – from the comfortable distance of my home now.
I love Texas. I really do. There’s something about it; the people, the culture, the land, that I adore. But I also see how and why it is a object of ridicule outside its borders. The thing is, no Texan really cares. It’s what makes us Texans. I don’t care, because the beauty of my home state cannot be ruined by the stupidity of people, companies, and legislators within in.
As I’ve gotten older it’s been easier to go home. The pain that for various reasons always encompassed me when I returned to South Texas has dulled and passed. I really miss it now.
That was clear during Thanksgiving. The air, the moon, the way the grass felt under my feet. It was all so comforting, so familiar. When we went and visited some family friends, it was even more stark.
They were making venison sausage, something I love but haven’t seen done for a long time. I remember being a child, running around underfoot, raptly paying attention while the grownups and teenagers did all the work. It was the same some 30 odd years later, just with different players.
The old-timers who oversaw everything and offered their wisdom and experience from the sidelines had shifted to a new generation. The middle age adult doing the work this time, we’re the teenagers who had learned years ago how to do this, as recipes and tricks were passed down from generation to generation. Now their children looked on, teenagers themselves, learning the ropes.
And my little one stood around asking questions and watching raptly. It was the clear passage of time.
As I watched this, I wondered if I was doing my daughter a disservice. She has not had the rural upbringing I did. She doesn’t have the privilege of extended family being within miles of each other. She hasn’t dug up her own potatoes, or picked the tomatoes for the salad, or sat up late at night watching the stars with her family.
On the other hand, she’s had experiences I never had. So I hope that I can pass along the things that I cherish from my childhood, the things that have made me who I am. Here’s to trying.
Grace and The Great Plains 