Sometimes it takes something you love to remind you of who you are. I was raised in a little community outside of Savannah. But my greatest lessons came when I moved to Uncle Shed's Fish Camp on the banks of the Ogeechee River. It was there that I learned about love and charity and how to be a part of something greater than yourself. While not much remains of that place the cabins are mostly gone and what’s left has been fussed over and divided up by family. Even the narrow dirt road that once welcomed everyone now has a gate with a padlock on it.
I haven’t been there since Betty the owner died; I can’t seem to bring my heart to see it again. The memories are just too precious. Like the time I went back to the house where I grew up. It’s so much smaller than I remembered, looking so insignificant next to the larger homes built around it. I have spent so many years being a nomad without a home. Putting down roots for a while, only to be uprooted yet again.
Still my life’s experiences have taught me, that nothing is really ours anyway. That the things we have are only ours for a time. That the only thing we keep are the memories we’ve lived. Maybe it’s better that way, to just be a part of something greater than yourself. To live your life doing as much good as you can. Then at the end moving on with the four winds, to become something else. Yeah, sometimes the silliest things can jar a memory and take you back to who you are. Like the idealistic young man that thought he could change the world, never realizing he has each day he’s lived.