Homeward bound...

We were listening to the radio as we drove towards my grandmother's house. As we turned right on North Street, Simon and Garfunkel began to sing, "Homeward Bound." I laughed and mentioned it to DH as we crossed the railroad tracks and I directed him to take the next left - onto Liberty St.

"Park anywhere. We are here."

So, kind soul that he is, he parked and I took him on my 10-year-old's tour of the neighborhood. My grandmother died when I was 10 or 11 (I lost both of my remaining grandparents - the only ones I had known - within a one year of each other. I would be forever jealous of friends with grandparents.).  My siblings and I knew almost every inch of my grandmother's yard and most of the block. We knew each crack in the sidewalk.

But we weren't allowed to cross the street (although sometimes we did - very carefully - when no one was looking).

We were allowed to walk around the block to where the sidewalk ends. I suppose that is one reason I love that Silverstein book. My freedom at Grandma's was restricted by curbs and sidewalks. And I knew (and know) where the sidewalk ends. It ends at the house where I would, in my 10-year-old dreams, one day live.

I will say that my child's mind never really understood how Grandma's modest home and Mrs. Lamkin's Hobbit-hole next door were located in the same block as the porch-wrapped mansion where I would one day reside.

DH and I took short walk around the block. It is really just two sides of the block. There is a sidewalk on Liberty and one on Stayton, but then you have to turn around and go back because crossing the street is forbidden. [I seem to remember my cousin used to challenge us to go a little farther down Liberty. She would dare us to cross the street. She was a risk taker, a wild one.].

So, here it is:

Grandma's house. The wooden railing is different. It was concrete/stucco when I was a child. We would step on the water faucet and climb up the side of the porch. We would jump from the top of the railings across the sidewalk at the side of the house and into the soft grass. I was usually terrified, but I followed my daredevil sister into all kinds of mischief (That's my story.). OK. And we would sneak the key and look around in the garage and storerooms and play under the fig trees and pick up pecans in the back side yard. All are gone save the pecan tree.

There are Halloween decorations! Does a child live here?

Love these pumpkins!

Mother would love these ferns - five giant fern plants decorated the porch. And two comfortable rockers kept the pumpkins company.

Warehouse at the train tracks. It looks just the same.

We were not allowed to go here. I am not sure how we found those railroad spikes anywhere else. Don't tell. (And somehow I think this is where I learned to mash pennies on the tracks). When the warning lights and bells went off, we would rush to the backyard and pull up on the wooden fence so we could see the lights and watch the train go by.

Mrs. Lamkin lived here, next door to Grandma. In my mind, this is what a Hobbit house looks like.

The sidewalk in front of Grandma's is new. I told DH so. But as we continued on - down the street - I recognized these old blocks of concrete. I walked these 40 years ago.

DH surveys my house. This is where the sidewalk ends - at the far side of the front of this mansion.

When I was little, the woman who lived here was wheelchair-bound. Sometimes we would see her sitting on the porch. Sometimes she would see us and waive. I have always loved houses with porches all around. This house has stayed with me all my life. [But now I know - maintenance nightmare.] This house has been renovated over and over. There was scaffolding on the side today. And I bless those trying to preserve it. We heard a train whistle and whistle as we walked along Stayton.

As we returned from our walk, I noticed someone working in the back yard of my grandmother's house. I began walking up to the gate (as DH objected, ever the introvert) and called out to the man I could see moving lumber.

He is the new owner. He and his wife and their daughter live there. He was busy working on a tree house! We talked a bit about how the house and yard "used to be." I told him of our feats of daring-do. I thanked him and wished him the best. And we left.

A little girl lives there again and she is getting a tree house. Wouldn't Grandma and Mother be pleased?