Homecoming

Homecoming is a remembrance of things that made me who I am:

My mother telling me to hurry home with the milk cow that grazed in the field. “It’s supper time,” she called, while waiting, for me on the steps of our small shack, to give me a hug.

Going fishing, with Grandmother, on the banks of the Chattahoochee River.

Eating bowls of buttermilk and crackling cornbread.

Savoring the last bite of the fresh-picked blackberries in a cobbler.

The smell of cured ham, eggs, and grits cooking on the kitchen stove.

Hot buttered biscuits dipped in a plate of sorghum syrup.

A free-range fried chicken for Sunday’s dinner.

Collards greens and string beans cooked with bacon fat.

Listening to ghost stories told late at night.

The sound of rain falling on top of a leaky tin roof.

Watching thousands of fly flies light up the night.

Making ice cream in a hand-cranked freezer.

Drinking cold well or spring water from an old dipper.

Shooting marbles with friends in the backyard.

Being respectful to people and kind to animals.

Homecoming memories of my childhood are great, but I do not want a return visit. The Homecoming to my future family is what I look forward to.