Quart pots of several native varieties and organic herbs line the kitchen baseboard of my old friend’s new town house in Harrisonburg, just inside the sunny back door. This is the beginning of what will become, by morning, a teeming hatchback also carrying Geraniums, ageratum, lantana, and impatiens back to my patio pots, herb ladder, and garden beds in Arlington.
Visits with several generations of old friends and a leisurely brunch with my brother take me back to the youthful years of my life here in the Shenandoah Valley. I treasure those innocent times lived at a slower pace, immersed in fresh air and mountain breezes. A drive up to Summit Avenue renews the glorious views from my childhood home in my mind’s eye. Taking it all in…
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live here as an adult. Or what I would be like now, if I’d never left this area to go to college, live in Toronto, and later become a teacher and move back to Northern Virginia. What would I be doing now? Who would my life revolve around?
But mostly I’m glad I did move on and away, because now I have this beautiful, peaceful place to return to from time to time. The nostalgia is exciting. The renewal of old friendships is rejuvenating. The retracing of favorite places is comforting. But I am always ready to go return to my current life and start all the planting.
Almost heaven, West Virginia. Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River. Life is old there, older than the breeze. Younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze.
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