Out along the four-lane, you can still see pieces of the old runway. About two thirds of the way down, they built a church and a house. The rest of the landing strip is still intact, but all of the buildings are gone. There is a mcmansion where the hanger once stood. It does not look like a hanger. This is, of course, another wistfully nostalgic post about how things used to be.
Fatigue makes me wistful. (Not “fatigues” you idiots, “fatigue.” Tiredness.) Papa is tired because it has been a long week. The Mills River valley has not changed so much in the last 10 years that I do not recognize it. It has just changed enough to be different. And of course I fear change.
Which should be most of what I see this weekend. The fratres and I will be headed west for a meet-up with our sister and the people we went to camp with lo so many years ago. This reunion will, of course, be at the camp itself. Many things will have changed, and none more so than us.
I do think, however, that much of my change has been for the good. Were I to be staying around home, I might venture down to the Bele Chere to see what might have become of me without some changes. Drunk, fat, and stupid is no way to go through life. So instead I will run into camp. It has been called a victory lap, and I think that’s true.
when i went back to brigadoon after having been away for 20 years, my first impression was how completely different it was and how they (“they”) had ruined every single thing about it. now i know that wasn’t really the case, and i hope you’ll be able to see that, but probably not since it’s just one day.