Road 148 — Life Narrative JTC 326
When I think back on my childhood I count myself lucky. Great family, great friends, great home. It was so normal, yet extraordinary in ways many will never even be exposed to. When I think about home, the only part I refer to or care to miss is my house and the street my house is on. I don’t think of the town or the people, just of my own little oasis on Road 148.
My parents bought our home back in 1985 and have lived there ever since. 35 years, three and a half decades, four kids. The house was a box, an actual rectangle. But with four kids, my parents had to make some adjustments, especially for two boys who couldn’t be confined and two girls who were always on the go.
I’m the youngest of four, and by a lot. My oldest brother was born in 89 and I in 2000. My parents, moreso my mom, like to tell me I wasn’t an accident. Let’s be real, when you start having kids at 24, I’m pretty sure you aim to be done with that before you’re 36. Or at least I know for damn sure I will be. For more context, these are the years my siblings were born: 89, 91, and 94. Despite how I joke about being an accident, I am so thankful for the age gaps between my siblings and I because without them I would not be the person I am today and wouldn’t have created such amazing memories/bonds with all of them.
Road 148 is a simple, mile long road stretching between two highways. On this road are six houses, four corn fields, two dairies, one river, too many dirt roads to count and so many opportunities for small adventures. My favorite part of growing up in a country environment was the amount of space I had to run around. When I was seven years old my parents bought a mule, which is a type of golf cart. Although it only topped out at a speed of 15 miles per hour, in my head I was Ricky Bobby and all I wanted to do was go fast. My way of going fast, wasn’t just going pedal to the metal in a straight line. It was going down into the river and making the sharpest turns a ten year old could make.
There have even been two instances where I have accidentally thrown my friends out of the mule. And I promise I do truly mean it was accidental. One of the times there was just no inconceivable way it was my fault. I was driving (of course) and my friend was standing up in the back holding on to the top rail. I was going through my normal routine of quick turns, hard brakes and wiggling the steering wheel back and forth dramatically. Adrenaline was all I was going for. It got to a point where I decided I wanted to drive down into the river and up the other side of the bank to spice up the evening a bit more. I made a sharp left down into the river, and it was smooth sailing until we started the trek back up the other side. This is when we hit the smallest of bumps and she reactively let go of the rail. Probably not the smartest choice on her end. There she went. Falling an astonishing 5 feet to the ground. Flat on her back. Hair an absolute mess, now tangled in the branches and dead weeds. There I was. Dying of uncontrollable laughter while also trying to be responsible and make sure she was alive. Don’t worry, she was.
Road 148 has many excellent features, and if I explained all of them, I would never stop typing. For that reason, I am just going to pick out the top two reasons Road 148 has made such a lasting impact on me.
For starters, my grandfather bought the land back in the 80s because there was one house for every son that he had. At one point, all of my uncles and their children were less than a quarter mile away from me at any given time. From what you can imagine, this made for a lot of fun, random get-togethers and amazing Halloween hayrides. Slowly one uncle after the other invested in homes in town and moved away. But my grandparents always remained close. One of my favorite memories was taking the bus home from school and being dropped off at my mom’s office. I would then run straight to my grandma’s house and sneakily army crawl into the house.. She was immediately aware I was there. We would then sit and just talk for hours. I think about her every time I drive by her old, red house. Nostalgic for just one more bus ride home.
Okay, sad stories aside, the greatest part of Road 148 were all of the cows. Yeah, the black and white ones (holsteins), as well as the brown (jerseys). My favorite being the brown ones because they obviously are the ones that produce the chocolate milk… Anyways, I was lucky enough to grow up going to work with my dad and having experiences that some pay money for when they go to a petting zoo. I’ve fed baby calves (adorable), milked cows, shown cows, and have watched one too many of them be born. Basically, I am one with the cows.
Third generation farms are few and far between. The memories I have made because of my family’s livelihood are priceless. If we didn’t dairy farm, I wouldn’t have had a river to go tubing down, wouldn’t have lived close enough to see my grandparents most days, wouldn’t have thrown anyone off a golf car; most importantly wouldn’t have loved my childhood as much as I did.
Road 148 will always be home.
