The Fit and a Slight Return

In terms of recent memory, I can think of no period so drastically involving permanent change and the act of moving forward as in the past four days. With the Town of Milton officially fading from my map, I have found myself transfixed in a state of reflection on the events in my life that have brought me to where I am today. In a town where steady growth has overcome most of what I call familiar, and in a fit of nostalgic determination, I have focused intently over the past two days on gathering those fine memories and rekindling the joys of a child growing up in a small town. Not an easy task.

I speak frequently and cater this blog to stumbling upon the hidden gems and treasures and discovering a whole new world beneath your feet, and in doing that, memories just creep up naturally, as in The Bouncing Red Ball. In saying that, however, what I've discovered to be most difficult, is to purposely set out on a journey for these triggers. It seems that at every turn, the familiar houses of my friendly youth are now anything but; like the world decided to one day just move on.

The farmer's fields which lay behind what once was my home, for example, are now packed with bedroom community dwellings. The clay pits, once perfect for bike riding and gathering cool looking scars, are now much the same. The forest in which endless games of manhunt and flashlight wars is now, yet again, a packaged housing complex. At every turn, the natural settings that once let me be a kid are now full of brick and plaster and metal frames. With the exception of only a few spots that ring memorable and special to me, this is not remotely close to being the town I remember living in for so many years.

Town Hall, or more specifically the gazebo and courtyard at Town Hall, a place where many of my "high school firsts" were experienced, is still there but the trees into which countless teenage lovers had carved their names are not. If I don't remind myself of the purpose for this exercise, I fear a slight depression, so I move on and consider myself lucky for experiencing what I did and when.

Of all the places attached to my younger years, Rotary Park and the adjacent waters of the Mill Pond are likely in the best standing, and because of this I have found myself drawn to them on both days of my search.

The number of baseball games played on those diamonds is impossible to count, and the smell of the snack bar comes back to me almost as soon as I step out of the car. A few small details have evolved, such as the bridge and the waterfall at the back, but the "Stand By Me" train tracks where I used to squish pennies under the wheels of passing locomotives and the dock where we used to cast our fishing lines into the murky waters are both in almost the same condition as when I last set foot upon them (in hindsight, however, I'm thankful for never catching anything from that body of water).

Over the edge of the waters on which I used to spend my winters ice skating, a gazebo now rests, and the park benches along the path have been changed a few times over, but at its heart it is seemingly still the same place where we used to watch all of those fireworks light the sky on Canada Day.

For a man who is always urging people to try the new and move forward and keep taking in the excitement this planet has to offer, I know I'm speaking much about the past, but I feel just as strongly about that as I do the future. In The First Literal Translation I mentioned how the changes we see in places so close to home cause us to think more of how far we've come, and no time seems better to seek these changes than when one of life's chapters officially comes to a close. It has been amazing to realize that in such a short period of time, just as I have so suddenly grown up, so too has this town. And like all things that grow and change, they must carry with them the history of their upbringing, no matter how buried in the details it might be. It seems to me that when speaking of memories, perhaps their most beautiful and powerful quality is how immensely portable they are, you just need to know where to look.

Where a house is just a house, a home begs to be built.

-Phil

PS O&T now has their shipment of cheese curds in stock...Now that's a reason to party!