An Introduction to Homesick Blues
Come to Appomattox and see the world! OK, maybe that is not exactly accurate. How about something more like see the world, then come to Appomattox?
It depends on your perspective. Let’s say you are now into your 40’s (I feel your pain) and have never left the friendly confines of Buckingham County. If such was the case, Appomattox could seem downright exotic. We know who you are. You are the ones who walk around downtown looking at the tall buildings.
However, in this day of long-distance travel and commuter lifestyles, it is not likely that there are many who fall into that category anymore. Our society is much more worldly and knowledgeable, traversing the globe, adventuring and experiencing the cultures of faraway lands. Sometimes as far as Brookneal or Sprouses Corners.
You will meet all kinds of folks in Appomattox. Many have lived here their entire lives. Many visited the place as youngsters, spending summers with cousins and deciding this was a pretty nice little place to be. Then there are others – I include myself in this latter group – who pretty much ended up here by chance, don’t need to be here, could probably live anywhere we wanted to, but choose Appomattox, because we decided that this is a good place to come home to. I come home to it two or three times a year.
My career involves travel, travel away from home for months at a time. It is not the glamorous globe-trotting career of, say, a double-ought spy, international jewel thief, touring rock star, or even those friendly folks with the frozen smiles and immovable hair who feed you small bags of peanuts and scorchingly hot foil containers of microwaved mystery meat on airplanes while you watch “Pirates of the Caribbean” for the sixth time.
Alas, no. My job is not so romantic, though it has taken me to ports in Africa, Australia, Bahrain, England, Estonia, Guam, Ireland, Italy, Japan, Korea, Kuwait, Malta, Poland, Saipan, Scotland and a tiny British protectorate in the Indian Ocean called Diego Garcia.
(Important note! Diego Garcia is not only not accessible to tourists, it is also against the law to kick or abuse the chickens that roam freely about the atoll. So if easy access and the disturbing of poultry is a must on your travel agenda, please look elsewhere.)
Anyway, I work in ship communications by day and occasionally get ashore to experience the local culture by night, if my budget permits and I can find a bartender who speaks English. Otherwise I am known as the Strange Foreigner who sits at a cafe table and repeats uno mas cerveza, por favor as if it were my personal mantra. Which, come to think of it, it probably is.
After four months (give or take) of such cultural enlightening, I am ready to come home to Appomattox, to my wife and Appomattox News managing editor (you don’t seriously believe that I am getting this published on merit, did you?) Pamela Matlack Klein, our cats, our horses, our dogs, ducks, geese, chickens (no kicking!), frogs, birds, guppies or whatever else she has added to the menagerie in my absence.
It is in Appomattox that I take pleasure in our farm, the countryside, a drive into town and a stroll down Main Street. For two blissful months, I am on my home soil, in my own little corner of the planet.
And then, my mind and spirit refreshed, I am ready to take on the world again. I’ll let you know if I see anything.
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