My dad was born in Chillicothe, Ohio - home of a papermill and its requisite scent. Until I was 10, I had a great-grandparent living there. I hated visiting.
That great-grandma was not a particularly kind human being. There were few redeeming factors in the experience. I do have a beautiful dresser from that house. Other than the dresser, all my childhood memories of the town are rather negative because of the great-grandma there.
Fast forward to 2003. After my grandmother's death, we spent time in Chillicothe on our way to smaller towns to bury ashes.
Chillicothe had become a really nice little town. Old buildings. The railroad station where my great-grandfather worked for the B&O. The house where my father was born. The hill where my great-grandfather let my dad drive a deuce and a half truck when he was 7.
Somehow the smell of the papermill was so much less. Probably my perspective changing...
That was a good day. The proverbial walk down memory lane - but it wasn't really memory lane. It was a creation of memory. Revamped memories to reflect what was there all along that I was too young to see - history, architecture, hills, connection of past to present.
Same reality. Same hills. Same town.
Entirely different experience for me.
That's how everything is. Our perspective creates the experience.
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2 comments:
My grandparents also grew up and still live in Chillicothe. While I always hated the smell as a child, I loved the small town, city park, and historic buildings. It was my only experience with a small town until I moved to Indiana for college and had friends in much smaller towns all over the state. Nice tribute-
Courtney
Thanks, Courtney. I was almost back there in June this year but that trip (to bury my uncle's ashes) was delayed. Will nod to your grandparents when I go through next.
Take care,
Leah
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