You can't always go home
Way back in the history of my family, my grandfather, Hobert Mustard bought a half acre of land in the small little village of Dailyville, Ohio he built a small two room house with no doors for the first few months just a curtain. He was poor, much like most of the people of Pike County. He and his wife, Mary Richards had three children Nolan, Maxine and Janet and built on two more rooms. The land was rocky and it was mostly on the side of the hill. The outhouse was up a little dirt path up the hill from the house. In time there was a garage and woodshed built down by the road and the house became overshadowed by a wonderful huge oak. To say my family was dirt poor would not be an out of line. My grandfather built another little house near the first and each of his children started their families there.
I have many fond memories of Mustard’s half acre…of playing hide and seek, red rover and tag with my cousins, of catching fish in the pond down across the road (State Route 220) and of the love my grandparents showed me. I remember spending summers there in my teens with my friend from the city and the smell of bacon waking us up in the morning. The sound of rain hitting the tin roof, the hidden bottles of my grandfather’s Dandelion wine. In the front room he had two church windows that he was given and they had this neat design (not stained glass) but lead or some kind of design of flowers with cut glass and when the sun hit those windows rainbows would dance across the whole room. When I was young I would curl up beside my grandmother on the davenport and she would read to me and my grandfather would tell me wonderful stories…
After my grandmother died my grandfather stayed there and not often enough I would visit and sit with him, take him to the doctor’s appointments or mow and rake the never ending leaves in the fall…he had a stroke and we were forced the sell the place and put him into a home. He lived on several years and passed away on his 90th birthday. His father, my great grandfather died on his 95th birthday.
Today I drove back there to Mustard’s half acre to see what was left…in a word NOTHING. The person who bought the house was killed in the house and the church bought it from the sheriff’s auction. They burnt the house down and leveled all the trees. The old oak is gone…the roses gone…I stood there is the pile of stones and dirt and cried. I stood there and felt the memories of my childhood fall to the ground and vanish like my tears.
An old man on a tractor came over and we shook hands and made small talk. I found out he is the caretaker of the land and there are planning on making it a playground for the youth group. I asked him if I could take a stone and he said take what you want…my mother got out of the car and they talked. They knew each other from back in high school and I wondered around the land with my heart exploding in my chest. I haven’t missed then so much since the funeral…
We drove on up to the gravesite. I lit incense and said a small prayer and I gave them each horehound candy, and have my grandfather and great grandfather some whiskey. We cleaned the gravestones off and we drove home.