The below was actually originally written for the first travel blog I ever had. It was 2010 and I was heading to Europe with a backpack and a dream of solo travel and self discovery. On may way I visited my mom’s family in Virginia, which led to the below post. This was also the same visit that gave me the one thing I always take with me on any trip.

I say this is my oldest travel memory because it truly is. Before I was holding a Koala bear in Australia or hiking to Machu Piccu in Peru I was spending a couple weeks every other year at a farmhouse in Virginia. It may not have been another country but compared to the desert scapes of Arizona, it truly felt like another world for a young girl. This is where I first learned how to play Badminton (the only sport I was ever somewhat decent at) and to eat oysters and crabs. So, I am sharing this as one of my first posts since it is one of the first places outside of my hometown that really meant something to me.

Written: Tuesday, June 8, 2010

There is a house that stands just north of Leesburg off the 15.  In order to get to it one must pass a couple of kitsch-y antique shops, an old school, a church, and a few other farms and country homes (one of which has an unhealthy obsession with bird houses).  Any regular person driving in the country would pass it and think nothing of it.  And, in all honesty it blends in well with the surrounding area.  Like every good farm house this one has a shed for tools to reside, a field for cows to graze, a pond for fish to swim, a lawn for kids to play and a porch for family to gather.  But what makes this place unique is that there is an old building that used to be a store and now is a historic landmark.

And what makes this place special is that it belonged to my family.

It was built by my great grandfather.  It was where my grandmother grew up and where she grew old with my grandfather.  It was where I came as a child and where some of my happiest memories reside.

Memories are a strange thing.  They can lie dormant for years at a time and then all of a sudden something will trigger them and they come flooding back.  And with them, a sense of loss and sometimes even pain.  I visited this house two days ago, and while it was wonderful to see it still standing, tall and vibrant as ever, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of sadness.  But it was not sadness for the memories.  How could I feel sad remembering fishing with grandpa, watching soap operas with grandma, playing croquet, eating crabs, family reunions, late night card games?  No the sadness came from the knowledge that all these experiences will never come again and now live only in my mind. 

I understand that times change and we must change with it.  But no matter how much we grow and how far we travel those memories never completely fade.  I can never fully forget, nor would I want to.  Any sadness that I may occasionally feel simply reminds me of how happy those visits made me.  It was wonderful seeing this old house, which has meant so much to so many people.  And while I may travel the world a part of my heart will always be here, in this place.