Actually, that’s probably the title of a country song somewhere. As I mentioned in my last post, I was home in Louisiana for a few days. Daddy is from Arkansas and Mama was from Louisiana and they met when they were at Louisiana Tech together. Like so many of the “Greatest Generation”, Daddy was able to go to college on the GI Bill and able to therefore go to a school he might not have otherwise afforded. The draw was Tech’s excellent Forestry program. Also not surprisingly for that time frame, Mama dropped out of school not long after they were married. They lived in Arkansas until I was three, then moved to Louisiana for a series of jobs in Forestry until they finally settled in Minden during my senior year of college.

Anyway, the point is that I usually drive down to Natchitoches and/or Many while I am home, a route that is mostly country roads. Pine woods and small towns, the Red River for part of the trip, rolling hills that flatten to more agriculture land, King Cotton lingering a bit, but mostly replaced by other crops. Pecan orchards in spots, cattle in others, and the Alligator Farm that I haven’t stopped at yet. There is also allegedly a crawfish aquaculture enterprise and I will look that up one of these days. While my radio preference is often the “Oldies” station, that particular drive calls out for country music. I tune the station in and crank the volume up, driving the two lane roads at a sedate pace, rarely more than five miles over the posted limit. I confess to the hokiness of the scenario, yet it is a ritual that I enjoy. Does it compare to diving in aquamarine waters as Jimmy Buffet plays on the dive boat? Not exactly, yet those country roads and songs are as much a part of me as are rustling palms and steel drums.

Do you have habits born of nostalgia when you visit certain places?