I went home this week – home to my youth, home to my fifteen year class reunion. If you don’t count university, it’s now been as many years that I have been out of school as I was in it. Well more actually. I spent most of my time in the Wichita’s. I am hoping the pictures turn out. They’ll be the first I put on my new website.
I started out at the old house and traveled the old road to Meers. It’s no longer the dusty dirt lane though just barely paved. Made a point to set the satellite radio to the 80’s station and let myself be taken back to that time, to high school, skip days and all those afternoons. It wasn’t too long ’til I found the same straight stretch of road that mom took the porche up to 125 and scared me. It was the first time I knew I wasn’t a risk taker. I’ve been playing it relatively safe since.
This is the first time I covered the whole refuge, visiting every little lake and all the roads. I forgot about the distant pounding of artillery. It used to shake the pictures on our walls at home. One time when I was still in early high school, the field artillery sent a round just a few hundreds yards from our classrooms. On Mt. Scott, I was able to see everywhere. I like that. Every time I go, I try and find my old house on the horizon. I can never find it right away and have to search landmarks like the water tower and lake. The day caught up with me. I ran out of time before I could get to Medicine Park.
The place is more home than anything or anyone I know.
I’ll write about the reunion tomorrow.