I’ve been travelling down these Oklahoma roads my whole life. Some of the best memories of my life happened on these roads, in this state and on the farm of my Grandparents.
When I was a little girl I knew what those old red Oklahoma roads looked like. Oklahoma roads look different than other roads. These well travelled byways meant home to me when I was young. The Indian Nation Turnpike toward Hoof-ville has a certain rhythm to it. It’s kind of like a certain road tune; I can hear it in my mind as I write.
As I grew up and began driving these roads myself the excitement never changed for me. The rhythm of the turnpike turns into the streets of Hoof-ville and then a right turn takes me to a well used country blacktop and finally that bumpy red dirt road that leads to a farm full of memories for me. The farm meant freedom, free time, dirt and my all time favorite- PIGS!
I have almost always loved visiting hoof-ville, there have been a few exceptions, my Grammie’s funeral (no explanation needed), my birthday trip (got a flat tire), and once when my sister had the flu and threw up on my toothbrush. (My Grammie offered to just boil it- you know the frugal farmers wife. I declined and just bought a new one).
I have been to hoof-ville twice in three weeks and this time when my little Kid4 shouted for me to go fast down the hills of that red dirt road, pointed out the new pony and was awed by the baby calves, it gave me a sense of pride. I’m proud to be able to take my little one to share very similar memories to those that I had when I was a little girl. I’m glad that they also enjoy the bumpy road, the animals, the run down barn, and the memories left from those before them who have also enjoyed it!
Note to self- remember not to take subway down that red dirt road to Grandaddy for dinner!
When I was a little girl I knew what those old red Oklahoma roads looked like. Oklahoma roads look different than other roads. These well travelled byways meant home to me when I was young. The Indian Nation Turnpike toward Hoof-ville has a certain rhythm to it. It’s kind of like a certain road tune; I can hear it in my mind as I write.
As I grew up and began driving these roads myself the excitement never changed for me. The rhythm of the turnpike turns into the streets of Hoof-ville and then a right turn takes me to a well used country blacktop and finally that bumpy red dirt road that leads to a farm full of memories for me. The farm meant freedom, free time, dirt and my all time favorite- PIGS!
I have almost always loved visiting hoof-ville, there have been a few exceptions, my Grammie’s funeral (no explanation needed), my birthday trip (got a flat tire), and once when my sister had the flu and threw up on my toothbrush. (My Grammie offered to just boil it- you know the frugal farmers wife. I declined and just bought a new one).
I have been to hoof-ville twice in three weeks and this time when my little Kid4 shouted for me to go fast down the hills of that red dirt road, pointed out the new pony and was awed by the baby calves, it gave me a sense of pride. I’m proud to be able to take my little one to share very similar memories to those that I had when I was a little girl. I’m glad that they also enjoy the bumpy road, the animals, the run down barn, and the memories left from those before them who have also enjoyed it!
Note to self- remember not to take subway down that red dirt road to Grandaddy for dinner!
1 comment:
I know that feeling -- the mountains in Virginia evoke the same feelings for me. There is a mixture of sadness and then relief. Those mountains are home for me. They always will be. But gracious, I've had a rough road in Virginia.
Blessings,
lacy
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