It is a sad thing to want to be back somewhere that doesn’t exist anymore. Like my home on Geneva road. I returned there last year only to find that the pasture where I learned to ride a horse is now several homes and the home where I first sang to the trees in the backyard is gone. Simply gone; it has been replaced by a newer home that doesn’t have the crack in the window from indoor soccer practice, and the walk where I broke the glass bottle that cut my brother’s toe practically right off is gone too. I would not have found the place if the detached garage that we converted into a chicken coop hadn’t been there, and even that had been returned to a garage so that I barely knew it. Even though this isn’t the same sixmile that used to be, it is still sixmile, and I can return here and remember other times and other faces. I hope in time that those other prodigals will return and then we can be a whole village again. I don’t think hoping is ever bad. So, yea for the return of sixmile!
Oh, and I guess I am glad that Greg is back too.