When I go home to Tennessee, I always go through a tiny little town, Hazel, Ky. I love it. I don't know if it's the fact that is where my father is from, the nostalgia, but I love going through Hazel. I always drive well under the speed limit to truly enjoy that thin line between Tennessee and Kentucky.
There used to be a diner, a barber, a post office and a grocery store. Now it is an antique paradise. I can remember visiting Mammar, that's what my sister and I called my dad's mother, and she would let us walk to the grocery store from her house. We always felt so big. We would get into the store and the same woman, whose name escapes me, with her beehive hair was operating the old manual cash register. Molly and I picked out our delicacy and charged it to Mammar's account.
There is nothing like going home.
The people who live here have created Hazel's Art District. I will have to stop next time.
The main drag
One of many antique stores
I just loved the star
I'm not sure I understand what it is that makes going home feel so good. I know when I cross the state line I am nearly home. I breathe slower, deeper. If the weather permits, I drive the rest of the way with the windows down.
I've driven the boys past my dad's childhood home, taken them to the cemetery on more than one occasion to "meet" Mammar, and walked the main drag with them. I want them to understand the importance of family and the importance of history.
Mom, Dad, Molly, and me