I always take the winding two lane mountain road home from work, itβs 8 minutes longer and so much prettier than the interstate. I see longhorn cows, sheep, goats, fluorescent red sugar maples.
Yesterday I took a trip to visit my grandmothers grave with my mother and my 101 year old grandpa. Over a century later, he still remembers every old road and scenic back way to get around, who lived in what house, where they worked, who were friends, enemies, and lovers. He told me stories about every nook and cranny in that tiny town nestled among the Blue Ridge.
Building the church on the corner of the graveyard and using popcorn in the mortar which got so hot it popped. Exploring the flour mill with his friends which today is a miniature museum of the town history. How he and his fellow boy scouts used buckets and shovels to help fight the raging fire that spread across the mountain range. He showed me the railroad his father was a pipefitter on and the few blocks he walked to work, the corner their little dog would wait dutifully for his whistle to come running after hearing the work bell every evening. He sang me the song about catfish they used to sing while bathing in the calm river in the summer months, the same river that claimed the life of his brother in law.
I miss the city and our friends, but I know we have so much time to make our own stories in the decades to come. I feel so blessed that I have him in my life and to be living again in my hometown to hear these stories and so many others. I am so grateful that he gets to spend time with my husband and celebrate the joining of our families.
If youβre lucky enough to have a grandparent or any elder in your life, give them a call or pay them a visit and let them tell you stories, even the ones youβve heard before. Ask questions about what it was like when they were your age and tell them how much you love them.