The Road Home

I have just returned from attending a memorial service in Oklahoma, where our family ranch is. It’s a place where my family has 35 years of history and I had even lived and worked on the ranch at one time. For all of its sadness, the only good thing about a memorial service is the opportunity to see lots of people in one place at the same time. That is part of the beauty of such gatherings and one of the reasons I rarely miss one. As a part of the weekend, I was afforded the opportunity to stay in my deceased father’s home and wander the roads and fields which are so much a part of my personal and family history. We all have roots of some kind and special places which have played important roles in our lives. For me, Tailholt, Oklahoma is such a place. I offer the following poem today, not because the names or places will be familiar to any of my readers, but because I believe the sentiments may evoke memories of your own personal roots. We all need to drive down the familiar roads of our past from time to time, even if we do so only in our hearts. Here’s to remembering your own road home … and may the journey be a pleasant one.

The Road Home
As I drive down this dusty road
I have driven so oft before
Past the red barn, the little brown house
and beyond the Tailholt Store
Past the little church where Noah preached
turn the corner at Shirley’s place
On down the cemetery road
with a wistful grin on my face
Then past the Caney Cemetery
where Don and Ednah and Helen are
I drift back thirty years, and more
but it doesn’t seem that far
I reach the junction at Wauhillau
pulling over to think a while
A lot of memories down that road
and most of them bring a smile
Off north is Bobby and Carolyn’s house
just beyond the old Chambers place
Where we picked dewberries in the spring
then there’s the rodeo bulls we chased
Across the road, by the old tin barn
is where that red bull ran me down
It didn’t seem so funny back then
at my debut as a rodeo clown
Just up ahead, atop the hill
is the spot where Herman and I
Dug sassafras roots beside the road
long ago, ‘neath the same blue sky
Just down the hill, by Bidding Creek
is where Uncle Don’s house was
Twas so nice today I kept driving on
and ended up here, just because
I slowly make my way back home
past a homestead I used to know
Where I picked daffodils in the spring
for my bride twenty years ago
I wave to Johnny and Rhonda
stop by the store for a candy bar
Having driven past thirty years of my life
has it really been that far
So much of my life is strewn along
the old country road I drove today
Not much has changed, except for me
and I kind of like it that way
By Frank Carpenter ©