GENEALOGY: CATCHING THE PAST... HOME

Home.  It is where you go when you're feeling lost.  It is where you came from.  Home for me was purchased by my parents in the early 1950's.  I got a wonderful surprise from dear friends.  He took a photo... just the right angle, just the right everything.  It said "HOME" 

Photo Credit (photo within the photo)  Mike Morehead

This was the road to the bus stop.  The county road was next to the trees in the distance.  When the wind was strong, you could make a sail with your coat tails and pretend that you were flying.  My brother Chuck was a trumpet player.  He kept tissues and bandaids in his horn case.  When I would fall and skin my knees, he would wipe me off and put a bandaid on it, and away I'd go.  In the spring beautiful grass widows would spring up in profusion.  With a large bouquet in hand, I would rush home and yell for mom.  She was always happy to get the flowers and would put them in a water glass in the kitchen window.  Walking to the bus was always a hurry, but coming home was a time for watching birds and bunnies, and daydreaming.  Home is where the heart is, but you need a road to get back home when you've been gone.