Despite his appearance, my father was the resident of a large (by regional standards)New England city, Springfield, Massachusetts. My mom has a more mysterious background and floated around quite a bit.

Needless to say, by the time they were surprised by my birth in their late thirties, they had been planning a move to somewhere quieter, where they could buy a little land. I got to go along for the ride!

Full disclosure, I was going to write about how my cousin has weaponized his waste over the years, but I’ve gotten a little traction lately, so I figured I should pick something more meaningful.

I’m also on the edge of a nervous breakdown from academic pressure, and I think I ate too many edibles. I’m really riding with the stream tonight, floating like a frog on a lily pad. Stay tuned for that piece on my cousin, it’s on the way!

With all that out of the way, let’s continue.

My parents bought the place around 1983. At this time, 30 minutes out of Springfield was considered a hinterland in all directions. My folks found a little spot in a little town where they could hide from both friends and foes in the woods and just live. They liked the newfound isolation, and boy, was it isolated. It was also beautiful, peaceful, and to me, perfect.

The tenth-of-a-mile-long driveway was shaded by a canopy of trees all the way down. Just before coming within sight of the house itself, visitors were first welcomed by my mom’s amazing vegetable garden. This massive plot had row after row of everything you could imagine, from fresh, fuzzy green beans to these little mini onions that my mom would pickle. They were so sweet, I can taste one just writing about them.

After the massive garden, the house itself came into view. An unimpressive place, it was made of cinder blocks and on a cement slab, so there wasn’t even a basement. While the house was a simple one-floor home, it was the property that made the place. My mom had flowerbeds that ran along the entire front and side of the house. She also had other flowerbeds, along with berry bushes, climbing roses, and all sorts of other things sprinkled all about the yard.

With Lilacs on every corner, flowers, fruits, and veggies all around, and a view that didn’t include neighbors, the fact that the house was tiny and simple didn’t matter. When I had the corner bedroom, opening the two windows created the perfect draft, no matter how hot it was outside.

It was like the trees were perfectly shading the stream of air, just for me.

We had woods in all directions and even a patio and a fire pit! We were living. The property was so quiet that people like my aunts and uncles from the Italian American club would stay for vacations.

When I was too young to remember and my parents were both still wild, the property also made the perfect stage for wild, drug and alcohol-fueled, insane biker parties. I only remember my mom planting a crocus garden; I missed all the crazy stuff.

We also had a chicken coop for years, but my dad’s heart broke every time one was killed by predators, so it fell into disrepair. Honestly, it was the back half of an old-school bread truck, so it wasn’t that great anyway.

Aside from our property, some woods extended behind us as well. I had a campsite back there, and there was also a spooky cemetery and a sandpit within striking distance. As you can gather, my childhood was awesome.

I know I’m just wandering here, but that’s what my thoughts do whenever I think of home. I miss it so much, and somehow, reacquiring that cinder block shack had been a goal of mine for many years.

This space, first and foremost, is a place for me to share my feelings and thoughts, but organizing them when speaking on this subject is difficult.

After my parents died, my older brothers, along with other members of our family, valued short-term gain over the needs of a sixteen-year-old to finish growing up at home.

Before losing the house, one of my brothers made sure to turn it into a drug den and party spot while I grieved in that corner bedroom, wishing for the breeze.

Sour grapes? Oh, yeah.

I showed my wife the house once. I hadn’t seen it in many years, so we took the hiking trail that runs alongside the property. To see it all those years later and through the eyes of another person, it really was a plain little dump. It was also and forever will be home.

Until next time, stay crescent fresh,

J. Tommy C.