Homecoming Day Two

On an average day you could shoot a cannon down our Main Street and not hit anyone. Parking spots are readily available. We were surprised yesterday to find the downtown area overrun by ghosts and goblins toting trick-or-treat bags. Local merchants were handing out treats and the downtown was as busy as an old time Saturday when the farmers came to town to shop.

We eventually found a parking spot and went to the Good Morning Good Day cafe run by the proprietor of our VRBO. The restaurant serves Slovak/Croatian food. The decor made me feel like I had just slipped into a cozy Eastern European Cafe. We heard that their crepes were amazing, but opted for protein to start the day. Our server, who was dressed like a witch, took my husband’s order for a chorizo strudel and my order of eggs over grits—not exactly Slovak fare—but an interesting step up from a typical American breakfast. Both were served with a side yogurt and fruit parfait. It was delicious!

Our proprietor came to the table and we talked about the recent rejuvenation of the downtown area. She shared news about all the women-owned businesses along Main Street and the innovative high school program that encourages female entrepreneurship. Her attitude was so positive and hopeful that I could feel the new energy for my hometown.

Breakfast was filling. We would need it for our next task. Every time I visit home, I go to the cemetery to tend my sister’s grave. Occasionally, I wander around unsuccessfully, trying to find the graves of the six generations of my family who are buried there. I came prepared this time with a map of the cemetery sections and the section location of each ancestor. A helpful local florist provided the map and locations. We also brought along a bucketful of gardening tools to clean around the tombstones, if needed. The task wasn’t as straightforward as I hoped. There’s no apparent rhyme or reason to how each section is laid out, nor are the sections or rows marked. The gravel road winds through the cemetery following the contours of the land. Several times we weren’t sure if we were in the right sections. Grave plots are also subject to the typography. My husband and I logged over 3 miles yesterday as we walked up and down each section looking for specific graves. At one point, we were stumped. We walked a section looking for my great grandparents—my paternal grandmother’s parents. I was ready to give up when a pickup truck pulled alongside my car. I immediately recognized the driver and his wife and knew how they got there. My brother, who lives in Arizona, stalked me on Find My Friends and sent his childhood friend and his wife to say hello. They helped. It was great to see them and even better when his wife found the grave we were looking for. I now having pictures of the tombstones of all of my grandparents, great grandparents, my uncle, sister and her daughter. I noted the locations on the map that I have and took a photo of a nearby landmark to orient the location of each grave. The photos will go in my genealogy records.

I finished the task visiting my sister’s grave last. It was the first time I didn’t cry visiting her grave. For one, I was tired from the trek, but I also had a realization of the randomness of life, the inevitability of death and the stories that connect us all. When I got back in the car I found a text from the current owner of “The Little Street House”— the old Victorian that holds a special place in my history here. Their plans changed. They are in town and she hoped we would be able to come by the house this morning before leaving for Wisconsin. Suddenly, I wasn’t tired anymore! I suggested to my husband that we drop into a local tavern for a drink and an appetizer to celebrate a productive day.

The finale of our day was the celebration of my uncle’s 90th birthday at Mona’s in Toluca—another landmark from my childhood. My husband and I set out a little early so I could stop at the IGA in Toluca with our cooler to buy several boxes of the frozen meat sauce that is produced by Mona’s for commercial and limited distribution. Twenty one people gathered for my uncle’s party: his wife, their sons, grandkids, great grandchildren and significant others. He and his wife are moving into assisted living next week. He brought a box of old photos for me to look at that they had unearthed in preparation for the move—some early photos of my mom who was his sister. I hadn’t seen some of his family in decades. It was a great celebration and we were happy to be included.

I’m finishing my morning coffee now and getting ready to pack up before we stop at the Little Street house and then head home. I’ve managed to accomplish a lot in 48 hours.

Our sons and my brother have been texting frequently over the trip. I sent pictures and kept them up on our travels. I love that they share the interest in the place that I will always consider home.