“You can never go home again “
This is a saying from a 1940 Thomas Wolfe book....which he said
“nostalgia causes us to view the past in an overly positive light “

But I went was my birthday and I wanted to return to my ole stamping grounds in Tyner....I had been adopted when I was 3 days old and my parents wanted me to be brought up in a quaint country fortunately for me they picked a beautiful white ranch house perched on a hill with 8 acres to explore......we lived there until my Dad became ill and we moved back to the city when I was 13.

So after turning off highway 6 at the green Tyner sign the memories began engulfing me.......Genie Diperts beautiful farm ; playing around the buildings and running on the lawn....

Up on the right “ the underground home” my Moms friend lived there. She had the most beautiful garden and she always flooded their home with the scents of herbs. Perhaps her way of bringing nature into an otherwise dark place.

As I went over the railroad tracks and headed into town.....passing Mr York’s home and Doc Thompson’s office there was the grocery store. It was so vibrant back in the day, we used to visit with Pat and the black cat they had.

Karn’s tv shop and their daughter who was a baton twirler.....I wanted to be just like her so I asked for a baton one Christmas..... she went on to become the Golden girl at Purdue....

LaMunions hardware store, but all the fun was with the family who lived inside.....always something going much laughter and stories ...and music

So remember that Halloween trick or treating at Gene Reese’s home.....I wore my Dad’s old one piece long johns, with the flap in the back......he told me I better not sit down cause my button could break and my butt would be to Linda Shanks . And that’s exactly what happened

On past Myra Fosters place, it was always so quite in their home......but then they lived across from the church......

Saw Larry Ernsbergers stainless steel sculpture in the cemetery......where he now rests.....we had so much fun when we were little.

Up the hill to Margie Stoneburner ‘s.....the maple trees still line the lane where ever spring the silver buckets would hang to catch the golden syrup .........wonder if the huckleberry bushes still have fruit....I can see them off in the marsh

And then it comes into view my home on the used to have stone pillars and a mile of white washed fences, a well house with the coldest yummiest water, a barn for the horses, a rock garden hill with stones from all over America it does not look like that anymore........but I can still see my Dad on the riding lawn mower and me barreling down the hill in the old black Ford pickup heading right for him......he jumped the fence .

Fred Miller’s home where I spent countless nights eating supper with them.......there was always room for one more....that’s the way of farmers

farmers Terry Keck and I used to meet halfway between our homes with lunch and a book to read.....the tree was in a field across from Fred’s place........the tree isn’t there anymore........but I did find another one ....for you see “yes you can go home again“.

.......because the memories are always there.