“We all come from somewhere. We carry that place with us wherever we go. That never leaves our hearts. Not entirely.”
– Doug Jones (Saru) from Star Trek: Discovery
My hometown matters to me. Yet, I rarely go back to the town I called home for nearly 25 years. It’s not that I don’t want to go back; it’s more that there is little calling for me to return. My parents no longer live locally, and they sold my childhood home years ago. Each time I return, there are fewer reminders of who I once was. Many of my posts situate my hometown as a consistent backdrop. Avoiding the town, therefore, is impossible. I love my hometown. I no longer want to position it on the periphery. But returning home is emotionally challenging and brings forth pleasing and unpleasant emotions; fear, happiness, and uncertainty. It’s a conflicted feeling, but I have attempted to work through these complexities. Fairhaven, Massachusetts, is ultimately home. I may not return for some time, but home will logically always be merely a drive away. After Corinne and I purchased a 2003 Jeep Wrangler, I felt the urge to explore the town I took for granted and left behind nearly two decades ago.
Snow, what happened to us? We used to have such extraordinary times together, but we have hit a rough patch lately. Blizzards, adverse temperatures, like what’s the deal? Why can’t it be like when I was younger, and talk of an impending New England storm brought cheers rather than dreadful heart-stopping tears. Yes, I know that rhymed, but it’s true; we used to be so good together. Carefree and happy, the spirit of joy and excitement over the prospect of canceled school coming over the radio, but now I don’t feel the same way. It’s definitely you, not me, and I know that might be mean, but sadly it’s true. I have seen what it’s like to be around warmth year-round, and it changed me, and it changed how I see and think about you. I should be sorry, but I am not.
As a New Englander, I accept the terrible winters because the fall and spring are gorgeous, and while the summer is hot, it can be enjoyed with excitement. But winter, well, winter is another animal. Still, I haven’t always felt that way. When I was a kid, I loved it when it snowed, but now I wouldn’t say I like it. I am a born and raised New Englander, and maybe that’s why when the first snow descends from the sky, the battle commences. Shorter days, darker sky and mood, but a happier person emerges from the slumber at the first sign of spring. The weather creature, Punxsutawney Phil, might see his shadow, but spring will come in six weeks no matter what he says. Six weeks can’t come soon enough.
“Living is like tearing through a museum. Not until later do you really start absorbing what you saw, thinking about it, looking it up in a book, and remembering – because you can’t take it in all at once.”
– Aubrey Hepburn
I continue to reflect on those things that brought me joy, whether toys or food. One thing I have not discussed is museums. There is no need to worry; I won’t put on my historian hat today, but instead recall those places filled with artifacts, history, and have inspired, moved, and awoken me to the larger, more complex world. As an adult, I have both different and similar viewpoints about those museums or historical sites I traveled to and observed as a child and adolescent. It is interesting to remember those places I went at a young age with the lived experience and the years of museum visits I have since stockpiled.
Today, I seek to engage in nostalgia once again, but with “field trips” as my focus, as well as those museums that I cannot forget, like Battleship Cove in Fall River, Massachusetts. One foot in the past, the other in the present, I hope to respect the educational pursuits that inspired me and the various museum visits that moved me. Sure, I won’t discuss every trip or visit a historical site or museum but rather build a narrative of the moments I think of most often. As the pandemic continues, diving into my nostalgic past has brought great comfort. Like my post on food and toys, and to an extent, music, and movies, here I take on public history.