Back in Tennessee

We all get asked: “Where are you from?” It’s a good conversation starter. And you get asked that question a lot when you live somewhere that doesn’t match your accent (which has been the case much of my life). I learned over the years to give different answers – all of which are true. It just depends on who is asking and why. Since the question is typically spawned because some word came out of my mouth with a Southern twang, Tennessee is a common answer. And a very true one.

Until last week, it had been 13 years since I had been “home” to Tennessee. I know why I hadn’t visited, although some of the reason is time just slips by and you don’t know where it goes. Now I wish I had been back much sooner. I had forgotten how much going to Lewisburg is like going home.

Maybe it’s because Lewisburg never changes. I don’t mean that really. There are way more fast food places there now than when I was a kid. (Good grief, I remember when McDonalds was built and what a big deal that was.) And there is more shopping, although you still have to go to Columbia if you want more than Walmart or groceries. And there are new buildings – parts of churches, houses, schools. Other buildings have been torn down, including the stone house we lived in. But the square is the same. (Well, I remember it being a bit larger…) The church we attended hasn’t changed. And even some of the old playground equipment I played on is still at the park at the Rec Center. Lewisburg is Lewisburg. It always will be.

And in so many ways, it will always be home. Mrs. Little (Grandma’s only surviving neighbor) remarked that I wouldn’t have any reason to visit again, especially once Grandma’s house is sold. But that’s simply not so. No, none of my aunts, or uncles, or cousins live in Lewisburg. A couple of mom’s cousins do, as well as her uncle and aunt although both of them are quite old now. I even have a few elementary school chums that still live there. Not to mention Mrs. Little. But it’s not entirely the people that make Lewisburg home. It’s also the memories…and those that have passed through before.

Emry lives where her papa is from. She will grow up hearing stories of what he did as a kid in Pittsburgh, how things have changed, where her family is buried and even knowing the houses he and other family members lived in. Her knowing that part of her life makes me want to share who I am and were I’m from all the more. I want her to see the places I loved, the homes that were my homes and the place her ancestors settled. (My family settled Marshall County, Tennessee just after the Revolution when they moved west from North Carolina.) Besides, my grandparents are buried there. And my great-grandparents. And my great-great grandparents. And everyone in-between, around and before. Not to mention my sister Christine.

We will go back to Tennessee. I don’t know when, but we will. Because it calls. As home always does.