It is at this time of year that I begin longing to see my home place. The older I get, the more I miss my roots in West Virginia. I long to hear the peepers up the holler. Those of you who know what that is, know what I’m missing. The dogwood and redbud trees are blooming. Ramp Festivals are in full swing. A short trip up the hill and you can find some sassafras root to brew up your spring tonic tea. Good for what ails ya, my grandma used to say. Rain on the tin roof. Water in the “crick”. Warm days, cool nights. Family. Friends.

Oh, I miss how green smells.

This is a picture of my ancestors…my roots. My grandma is the young girl in the center. My great-great-grandparents on the far sides. I love the feeling I get when I see the continuity of the gene pool…knowing the curve of my daughter’s face came from this one, and the hair color of my brother came from that one. We are in there, tucked inside this picture…carried along the same as my unborn great grandchildren are. I love this.

West Virginia is calling…and I must go. Soon.