Friday, March 28, 2003
The roads of home
How often have I driven this shortcut on my way to church, and successfully maneuvered the bump between Westford and Lowell Streets? I smiled to myself as I ponder the answer · many, many years.
Reminiscing, I thought of the times in my late teens when I drove home on Curve Street late at night only to have my headlights, suddenly and inexplicably, go out! No problem · I knew the road well, the moon was often shining, and one hardly ever met another car on the road at night.
On a quest now to think about familiar roads in Carlisle, I remembered the harrowing rides on the school bus across unpaved North Road. Snow banks on each side created even more of a challenge as the bus went careening down the road, front end seemingly turned one way, rear the other.
Saturdays meant "ride your bikes up-town" to meet friends. All the roads of Carlisle were open territory for us to explore. Somehow it often seemed to rain just as we headed for home, arriving there soaking wet.
Times change, farms disappear, new roads appear. My father once asked me, "Where do all these roads go?" "Nowhere, Papa," I answered, "but to new homes and dead-end streets." (He wouldn't have known what a cul-de-sac was.)
There was a time when tires were not what they are today, when on a snowy day the small incline on Cross Street took two or three tries to successfully climb it!
Sadly, more recently, the road to and into the cemetery became more familiar to me, as one by one, those I loved and who were closest to me, were buried there.
There is a "softness" to the roads in Carlisle. No, I don't mean the pot-holes or bumps, but rather the comfort I feel in the familiarity of the roads of home.
© 2003 The Carlisle Mosquito