Autumn And The Muse


Autumn And The Muse

It was all so different these many years later…

The clapboard houses were all gone, replaced by small brick and hardwood homes with indoor plumbing. The dirt and gravel lanes were now paved although still isolated and rural. The old white church with its high steeple, now freshly painted, was the marker that let me know I was really home again.

It was like time had abbreviated everything I looked upon. The distance from church to Mama’s and Papa’s old house was hardly a quarter mile. The lanes that branched off the short stretch of road to the old sawmill and the railroad tracks were now unrecognizable, overgrown with brush, trees, and weeds… I could not even determine where the old sawmill and train tracks had been. Where so many years ago there had been Papa’s rows of corn, potatoes, tomatoes, turnips, and scallions was now tall green grass for a few grazing cows.

I smiled and pointed out to my wife Julie and son Scott where the old out-house had once stood, where Papa had once castrated the squealing hogs. I pointed out where old ‘Fred’ the mule used to lead the plow through the fields with a few ‘gees and haws’ from Papa. The little hamlet of Wooldridge was now all condensed for my memory but the thoughts, good and bad, raced through my aging brain…

It was here where some of the first memories were built of my displaced youth, where fear of the unknown and new experiences collided to make me a docile and disturbed little boy. It was here where my microcosmic world was filled with dreams and dark ugly shadows. Here was the nexus that was the foundation for all that I would become – the nomadic drifter in search of illusive dreams, the uncertain master of a fate always to be determined.

The tears were not seen through the smiles as I passed on to my son and wife the wisps of yesterday, but they were there…tears for Mama and Papa, their hard lives, yet their devotion to me…tears for the parents who fought, who loved and tried, but were unable to make things right for their family…tears for a life that could have been better in some ways but did, through all the wanderlust, bring me to wife Julie who personifies family, love and patience…tears for my beautiful children of whom I am so proud and love so deeply.

This day trip from my middle Tennessee home to the east Tennessee hamlet of my youth inspires this post. While there has to be some sadness – that’s the way I’m put together – it is likely one of the best days to go into my still active memory pages. The day serves to point out for me that, indeed, ‘everyone has to be from somewhere.’

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18 thoughts on “Autumn And The Muse

    1. Some years back I wrote a song for my paternal grandparents (Mama and Papa) — if I knew how to record it acapella I would send it to you — I can still send you the words if you would like (but you will miss the ‘velvety quality’ of my baritone voice). 🙂 Let me know when you have time…


  1. Beautifully written, Bill. Your journey back to your childhood home feels so…full circle. Very different from your postings from the Sea of Cortez, but just as poignant.


  2. I too enjoyed our day trip to the past. Seeing where the man who I love , my father was born and raised was a wonderful experience. I can’t wait to do it again. To see my relatives that I know are a part of me was spectacular and I will always remember fondly. To my father and his fantastic wife Julie, I love you both. Scott


      1. Good morning and aloha from Hawaii another sunny day today, but I know Mother Nature will get even soon. Can’t wait til we can spend more time together. Give each other hugs from Carla, Jojo, and I. Mucho love, Scooter 🙂


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