It is a truism that one must travel or live elsewhere to learn about your home. Like many small-town farm boys, I could not wait to get away from home, whether it be to college or church mission service. I can still remember glancing up into the rearview mirror at the sight of my forlorn mother standing in the driveway, watching me squeal the tires escaping to start my college life in Provo, Utah. I had packed a suitcase with clothes lovingly stitched by her with my name on the labels. My saxophone, my stereo and my basketball were jammed into the back seat of my new Camaro and I beat a fast path out of town. This was after “borrowing” a tank full of gas from the farm tank out back!
Over the lazy Memorial Day weekend, I sat in the shade of my front porch and made a list of lessons I learned while living or traveling elsewhere in the world.
Property taxes. Contrary to the complaints so rampant from us homeowners in Idaho, property taxes here remain lower than where I owned a home in West Virginia. If I were able to somehow magically transport the larger square foot home I briefly owned in Charleston, to here in Franklin County, my annual tax assessment would be several hundred dollars less than it was there. This is even with adjusting for rising home values and general inflation over the past 26 years.
Utility bills. Again, more expensive in Charleston, than in Preston. My son and I lived in a 2 bedroom, 1 bath apartment with no yard and no garden to water. Just Andy Griffeth and Opie taking showers, doing laundry and ordering Papa John’s pizza most nights. Our monthly water bill was easily $100 a month, with every single gallon metered. Here in Preston, I can use 40,000 gallons a month for only $43 a month. We only meter the water during the summer months, so during the fall and winter, I can go plum crazy with water usage and pay no overage.
Traffic. Now that our main street is back to the previous 4-lane configuration, travel is a breeze. I have not had a single case of road rage since moving back to Preston. Compare this to that eventful day on Kanawha Blvd, where an angry guy jumped out of his car at a red light and challenged me to a fistfight. Did I actually cut him off while speeding my son to his Cub Scout meeting? Maybe, but not intentionally.
Home and car repairs. I am always so thankful when I need such service that the person I am dealing with is often a high school classmate or long-time acquaintance. Business is so much easier to arrange in a small town. Quicker to complete, cheaper and my customer satisfaction is high.
Combining homeownership and business brings a lesson to mind that still ticks me off. Remember that home in Charleston I mentioned? The divorce settlement required it to be sold. A buyer surfaced fairly quickly for a price that would result in a nice profit for my ex and I to split. A few thousand dollars a piece was due to land in our pockets. The last piece of the closing was a home inspection to be paid for by the buyer. Why would I object to that, he’s going to pay for it. Well, guess again. The report came back a week later full of apocryphal red ink in regards to the condition of the foundation. Long story short, the cost of the recommended repairs basically erased that windfall. When it came time to sign the contract, I actually had to write a check to the buyer for $119!
I was desperate to get the whole divorce trauma behind me, so I didn’t profusely object. About a month later, I heard that the “professional home inspector” was the "golfing buddy" of the buyer. I came away with a heightened sense of skepticism and learned to trust others at my own peril.
Travel taught me to appreciate and look for history. Something that there is less of here in my hometown, at least the recorded variety. Here, I can be part of making history. In West Virginia, it was already made by Civil War battles and the hardscrabble life of coal miners. It will always be my second home.
Travel taught me to seek solitude as a refreshment for a busy mind. This is an easier find here in my home than it was back east. Nights are quieter, the air is more pleasing, and the comforting memories are everywhere I look. That third-floor balcony on Washington Avenue of Charleston was adequately private after the sun went down, but not as serene as 4th West in Preston. That balcony taught me about loneliness, a painful lesson I only revisit when it is self-chosen.
Some people outgrow their parents, I, however, learned by travel, that I had not, did not, and would not. I needed to be around their sphere of influence, despite the lack of their physical presence. Living away from my parents and siblings fostered more independence in me, a much-needed quality. But not being able to make the phone call for advice or share a story about the funny things my son did or said, is a huge void. I came home too late after they both were gone. I regret that. But their voices linger here in this red brick ranch and in this yard. That will have to do for now.
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