This Town

This town is my home, it's deep in my soul

That's why I'm at home even when I'm on the road

I inherited nomadic genes from my mother. If it were not for World War II my dad would never have ventured more than a couple hundred miles from his birthplace, but not my mom. Mom's side was the most nomadic; the legend is that my first English/American ancestor was a Puritan who fled London for the New World after being involved in a plot to kill the king. His family stayed in the northeast for about 200 years, and then the nomadic gene reared its head once and they started heading west again. So it's no wonder she beat feet outta' town as soon as she could, flying a bi-plane with her boyfriend around the midwest, working on the Alcan Highway during WWII, runninga flower shop in Gallup, NM, and travelling all over the country.

So my ancestors were a mix of nomads and settlers. Near as I can figure out, both sides settled in northwest Missouri/northeast Kansas almost 200 years ago. Those are deep roots ... it is no wonder that my daughter Carly has made her home in that region; it's almost as if the land calls us.

The Nomad gene can lay dormant for awhile, but eventually it rears its head again. Scientists experimented with fruitflies, trying to breed certain traits out of them. But even after one hundred generations those traits would pop up. And so it was with mom, and so it is with me.

But then when times get tough, you find yourself drawn to your roots. When mom's first husband - the true love of her life - died suddenly, she returned home to St. Joseph, Missouri and stayed for twenty years. But then she got a new opportunity in another state; I was around by then and mom never tired of telling folks about what happened when she asked me what I thought about moving far away, leaving friends and family. She just beamed when she would recount how as a ten year old I said nothing, just went into my room, packed a bag, and said, "When do we leave?"

But though she lived a long life and travelled far from home, when mom lay dying she told me she wanted to be buried in St. Joe, with her family. She wanted to go home. So we returned her ashes there and as I stood in the midst of my family history, I felt the call to home as well, even though I have not lived there in over forty years. Weird. But maybe not. Maybe all of us who wander carry home with us, which is why we can wander. St. Joe had it's best days around 1890 and was already a town in trouble when I was growing up. But the solid foundation laid as I was a child - the friends, the family, the memories - have served me well over the years. Injust a few days I head off for another new place, another home, another group of new friends. I have come a long, long way from home ... and I have never left home. This town is deep in my soul, and I suspect that is true for many of us who wander.

Link to YouTube video showing scenes of St. Joseph, MO set to Rehab's "This Town": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mP9d4wJMOnQ