My Town

I grew up in a town built from the vision of a man who purchased one square mile from a Pottawatomie chief in 1831.

The house in which I grew up has a lot of windows and a lot of love.  It was my parents' first brand-new home together in a neighborhood that was mostly dirt lots at the time.

The old dirt road has been long paved; the wild strawberry plants have long been bulldozed to make way for more houses.   A new organic blueberry farm just outside of town takes the place of those sweet, tiny strawberries.  

I come home and discover the memories are better than ever.

In this town, people are reserved, but friendly.  The Amish live peacefully nearby, and the people of the city travel to the outskirts of town for their apple butter and cinnamon rolls.

I'm from the recreational vehicle (RV) and band instrument capital of the world. 

It hosts the second-largest county fair in the country, complete with plenty of fried food, music events, games and rides, and my favorite invention: the elephant ear (fried dough slathered with butter and cinnamon-sugar, for the uninitiated).  

Once upon a time, there was a little shoe store with a half-pint door for kids to walk through, and a special platform to try on shoes that made the tiny shoppers feel like princes and princesses.  The theater downtown has been renovated and shines with new chandeliers and smooth paint; the opera house has been gone for 20 years and I still regret its demolition.

You will find old money along the river, among the original homestead sites.  These homes sit elegantly, some quietly fading, while others glow.  

This "city with a heart" can still boast of a not-so-hidden treasure:  Ruthmere.  Built in 1910, this gorgeous piece of history was designed by Chicago-trained architect E. Hill Turner for Mr. and Mrs. A.R. Beardsley and is now lovingly cared for and supported by private tours.  Among my favorite features in this home include original Rodin statues, a Renaissance-worthy mural on the ceiling, and silk wall coverings.  But the most amazing piece is a Choralcelo - a piano-like instrument of which only 100 were made.  Today, Ruthmere houses one of only a couple remaining in the world.  The sound and sight of this one-hundred-year-old instrument is too beautiful to describe with words.  

It's a place where people might stop by at 9 AM without calling ahead because they were running through the neighborhood and heard you were in town.  My husband still thinks that's crazy.

It's a place where a Hall of Heroes museum is steadily growing its fan base and attracting Hollywood stars.   This haven for superheroes was built from a passion for justice and good by a classmate of mine; if you're ever in the area, go!  The memories are fantastic.  
 

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In this town, I grew up walking down a beaten dirt path through the woods to school, with friends I've known since kindergarten.  The high schools always played basketball at the junior high school gym, because it was the biggest one in town.

There is a still-active drive-in, where the carhops no longer wear skates and poodle skirts but branded t-shirts and tennis shoes.  This is where I had my very first job, starting at 14, for four teenage summers.  

Every year, I come home to soft grass, and huge oak trees, and the same house my parents bought in 1974.  Every summer, I am awed by the vibrant fields of green and gold with soft pink and blue sunsets and the determination of the town to keep surviving under the pressure of a declining economy.  

I come home to people who weren't necessarily close friends in high school, but we've come to find that we have so much in common; so many stories to share as adults.  I come home to find that the memories are better than ever. 

There is no place like home, Elkhart.  I love you. 

Thanks to my friend Mark Lucas, whom I've known since kindergarten, for lending me two of his gorgeous photos for this post. 

Where did you grow up?  I want to hear about it.