Monday, July 11, 2011

You Can Never Go Home Again

Looking at our home from the field across the street. Our property spans from the far left to the trees lining our driveway on the right.
When my parents moved about six months after I got married I knew that I could never go home again. I was sad because I loved living in that house for the 12 years we were there. It was the ideal place to grow up.

It was a 30-40 year old adobe hacienda on an acre of land with about a hundred trees and a pool surrounded by boulders. Across the street was a beautiful pasture with a few cows grazing on grass and a stream that ran between acres of oak trees.

I love Escondido. But, I made my home in Utah 22 years ago. I love Utah too. Most of my family is here. And I have a lot of great friends here too.

But our little house on Oak Lane always has a piece of my heart. So many memories. My dad working in the yard, my pony escaping from her corral, my half wolf dog playing with a dead jack rabbit in a trench he dug while we were at church. The kids from our ward gathered for a fireside. The pool parties and birthdays. My grandparents trailer parked on our lower driveway. My grandma cooking up hotcakes on a Saturday morning.

I miss this place. It makes me think of that old Beetle's song:

"There are places I'll remember all my life, though some have changed. Some forever, not for better; some have gone and some remain. All these places had their moments with lovers and friends I still recall. Some are dead and some are living, in my life I loved them all."

5 comments:

whiteleg said...

Everyone has memories of this home...

Thanks for posting!

Kristi said...

My parents moved out of Escondido just a few years ago. I haven't been back. It would just hurt too much.

Vern said...

I was half expecting to see a blue cadillac in the driveway when I ran by. So weird!

Ria's Random Thoughts said...

What about the Boobaru?

Deila said...

I loved your thoughts here, the wolf dog, I could instantly see him with that jack rabbit. Good words.