Bluest Highways Can Be The Ones That Take You Home

I’ve made the trip many times over the years. It’s a great backroad through countryside where change occurs slowly. It winds through peach country in Edgefield County, past the orchards and produce stands, so busy during the harvest. There’s nothing like a peach from Edgefield County. 

This is my trip to Seneca, South Carolina - my hometown. I’ll go through Clarks Hill and Modoc admiring the old buildings and passing the many boats and campers headed to Clarks Hill Lake or Lake Strom Thurmond, depending on your preference.  

Things are different now. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, and Mother’s Day have always been big holidays I never miss, except when I lived in Tampa and missed a few.  

Going home now doesn’t mean turning toward the house I grew up in. It is visiting with mom in her assisted living home with her new friends. Some know where they are. Some don’t. Dementia is hard. 

Going home used to be mom greeting me at the door. She would make bacon, eggs, sausage and homemade gravy, and her glorious homemade biscuits. 

There were times I wondered if she was trying to kill me. Those biscuits – Crisco, flour, and buttermilk – shaped by hand and buttered on top. 

There is nothing like a post-biscuit coma on mom’s sofa. 

Today, she meets with her friends in the cafeteria to have her meals. She says she enjoys the meals, but I think she’s just trying to be nice. There is no way anyone can outcook Margie Gentry.  

No one. 

Often, I find myself wishing it was 20 years earlier when we would gather around her table, laughing and enjoying a southern-cooked meal too good for words. 

Heading back home is the one time I don’t take in the backroads and stop to take pictures of an old barn or gas station. I don’t dwell on places that are no longer there, like my parents’ restaurant in Walhalla or the house I grew up in. I just drive, think, and remember. 

I remember the time I surprised her when I lived in Florida. It had been a while since I was home, and I called her as I got close and we chatted. As I pulled into her driveway, she asked when I was coming to see her. I blew the horn. She opened the door and squealed like a child.  

I’ll never forget that moment. 

No one will ever be as happy to see you as your mom and no place will ever feel like home.