Longing

 I learned to walk here. I learned what true family meant here. I learned that you don’t have to be blood or share the same last name to be that family. I learned that the river and bay can be just as magical as the ocean. I learned that you can survive summer heat with rickety old standup fans. I learned how to drive a stick shift here. I learned that true love and heartache can exist in the same person. I learned how to catch, pick and love blue crabs with a passion. I learned that small town life can be enjoyable and safe. I learned that listening to good music and front porch sitting are simple daily pleasures. I learned that a 17 yo driving her daddy’s pickup truck in this town had the whole world at her fingertips. I learned that shoes were not mandatory in life.  I learned that late nights playing card games with 10 plus adults when I was a kid would be priceless when I turned 45. I learned burying my goldfish under that tree was necessary. I learned knowing everyone who lived on your sleepy street was invaluable. I learned the beauty of walking barefoot in the garden and picking string beans after a summer rain. I learned the generosity of a neighbor farmer leaving homegrown tomatoes and corn on your patio table every week. I learned how crucial solitude can be. I learned how to appreciate what is for what it is because one day it may not be any longer.

It’s been almost 50 years that I’ve been coming to this town on the Potomac River. My maternal grandparents used to come here from Alexandria by boat in its heyday. I always cherished their stories and photos but I never really appreciated this town when I was a kid, a teenager or even a young adult. Now I do and the catalyst is because of how it has changed.  The majority of those wonderful people who used to love the Playground on the Potomac and who I would spend every weekend from Memorial Day to Labor Day with are gone.  Skippy, Dickie, Buddy, Wormy, Helen, Eggy, Big John, Granddad, Grandmother, Pap, Grandma, Lil, Bobbie, Edna #1, Edna #2, Irma, Scotty, Stevie, Dad, the list goes on. They are still spiritually here in many ways but it’s not the same.

This town isn’t the same either. Reno Hill, cruising on Saturday nights, the Ferris Wheel, Hops, that place that sold the best square pizza and round steak and cheese, Ben Franklin, my secret staired hideaway to the river, Howdy Doody #1 and #2, playing cards on the back porch singing along while he would play the table drum, watching him making highballs for the ladies, finally being old enough to make Bacardi and cokes for myself, helping each other win card games when others weren’t looking, sleeping on the screened-in back porch, homegrown tomatoes and fresh corn on the cob on the dinner table, a bushel every Saturday night and then crab cakes for days, cookouts, hanging out under the back tree or in the pool as the only relief from the heat, lightning bugs, flirting with the summer help at Halls, piling in the back of the truck for a ride to the Point, fishing off the sandbags, watching her sit alone in the rocking chair missing him something fierce and rarely smiling, friends showing up in the backyard and walking right in, the memories go on.

I’m beyond grateful to have had open fields on all three sides of this property since it became ours in 1981…..until last year.  Now, my natural open lot with an uninterrupted view of the sky and a glimpse of the river is obscured my three houses. The fields that used to be vegetable and flower gardens where I would watch birds and dragonflies and bunnies play are replaced by homes. The crepe myrtles that were barely taller than me at 8 years old and now are mature gorgeous bushes will soon be destroyed. The local fresh seafood markets and restaurants have been replaced by Mexican and Thai places. The pizza places are gone except for one chain. There are two breweries now which is a welcome nicety but parking meters have taken over everywhere. Houses are being erected in every possible green space. 

It’s not the same anymore. But things always change, I suppose. 

As I sit here pondering all these changes and longing for times gone by, I have to ask myself what is it that I am really missing? It’s the people. My people. 

They are what made this town my second home.  They are the real reason for my melancholy feeling toward what used to be one of his and my favorite places. No one really understood that feeling but us. And now it’s just me being misunderstood again, just like that younger me. I’m grateful for what it was but will forever long for it to be that way again.