Isn’t it true that while so many things change, some things stay the same?
I had the opportunity to celebrate the long Thanksgiving holiday weekend doing something I haven’t done in more than 20 years: Visit my dad’s side of the family in the mountains of Hazard, Ky.
We used to go every Thanksgiving when I was growing up to visit my great-grandma and my great-aunts and uncle. There was usually more than one vehicle of the Williams clan, as my grandparents and cousins joined in on the adventure.
The boys (who were older) would shoot target practice off Granny’s porch, aiming at pop cans perched in the mountainside across the road. We’d take walks up and down the dirt road and throw rocks in the creek. Granny would cook breakfast from scratch; her cooking is still the stuff of family legend. And back before Black Friday shopping was a thing, we’d hit a few small stores on the Friday after the holiday.
I remember getting out of school early to start the long 8-hour drive, stopping about halfway at our favorite hotel near Cincinnati that had a big ball pit that you could climb. I’d play in there for hours. Once I crashed a kid’s birthday party there. Another time, I smashed my finger playing shuffleboard.
I remember being in such awe over the mountains, since northern Indiana is so flat. All in all, I have so many fond childhood memories of the annual pilgrimage to Kentucky.
But when Granny died in the fall of 2001, the annual trip just wasn’t the same. I don’t think I have been back since. When my parents and others in the family resumed regular visits, scheduling conflicts – whether from school or work – made it difficult for me to join.
So this year, when the offer was made for my son and I to join my parents for the trip – which hadn’t happened since before the pandemic – I was grateful it worked in my schedule.
What was the most different about this trip, of course, was my potty-training toddler travel companion. I also don’t remember having to take medicine to prevent car sickness on the long drive. Gone are the days of being able to read books while sandwiched in the backseat between my siblings!
When we arrived on the old family property last Thursday, it was like stepping into a time machine. All of it, at least at Granny’s house down the hill from my great-aunt and uncle’s house, looked the same as I remembered. I almost forgot about the moss-covered rocks in the front yard that act like stepping stones on the mountainside, and the constant threat of snakes (at least when it’s a little warmer).
The old dirt road is paved now, although it’s still one-lane and so narrow that one false move could send you careening down the side of the mountain.
My great-aunt who lives in Granny’s old house hasn’t changed the place a whole lot. It even smelled the same as soon as you stepped inside the door. I half-expected to see Granny standing by the stove, cooking up something delicious.
Another big difference during this trip was that I had a camera to capture all the memories. While I have a couple photos of past trips to Kentucky, including a couple special ones of me and Granny, they are few and far between. I took so many photos of the scenery and my son soaking up the mountain ambiance that I will treasure.
We did enjoy some shopping on Friday, particularly at a couple consignment shops, a locally owned toy store and the coolest little independent book store. Downtown Hazard has colorful downtown murals too.
Moments before we started the long trek back to northeast Indiana on Saturday, my great-uncle entrusted me with important photos of family history, which he wanted me to share with my relatives up here. That’s quite the undertaking, but I think I’m up for the job.
I was also encouraged not to stay away so long next time, and I hope it doesn’t take me another 20 years to make it back. But I’m comforted knowing that no matter how long it takes me to visit again, some things just won’t change.
Jessica Bricker is a former editor of The News-Banner.
Although she’s no longer in journalism,
she enjoys writing about life in Wells County.
jessicabrickerwrites@gmail.com
