We all have a place we call home. In most cases, this is a building – a house, with loved ones in it. Last night, I went home – to a town that I grew up in and one that I seldom, though living near, visit. I don’t think I realized the connection until I was sitting at the restaurant, waiting on those I was to have dinner with.
I could picture the town forty years ago when I was a small child, walking to and from school daily down the street. I could picture the “five and dime” across the street – a place with a lunch counter that I would stop at after school as a teen with friends.
I spent some time talking with April, one of the owners of Tioga Trails Cafe. We discussed the building, its history, my connections to its past lives. There is a history in that town that I cannot deny. There is a part of me that is always going to be in Owego, New York. There is a story here that is going to take some research but that I am going to dig out and write about. It will be a lengthy writing. It will be a soul searching writing. I cannot wait to start researching, combining my memories with actual history.