My hometown lies a short 15 miles away from the home of the fighting Irish of the University of Notre Dame. Is it any wonder that it was almost considered sacrilegious to be doing anything else but rooting the team onto victory on a fall Saturday afternoon?? That was how it was at my house anyways. My mom was a huge fan and demanded life stopped as we knew it for every football game. We all dressed in Notre Dame apparel, and celebrated each touchdown as if we had personally won the key to the golden crapper.
Located 110 miles east of Chicago in the heart of the Midwest, Elkhart was mostly populated by Indians around the turn of the 19th century. In 1829 the village of Pulaski was established on the northern banks of the St. Joseph River. A couple years later Dr. Havilah Beardsley moved from Ohio and purchased a square mile of land from the Potawatomi Indian chief Pierre Moran. Shortly there after Elkhart was born. Some say the town was named after Indian chief Elkhart, still others claim it has more to do with the shape of Island park in town. Because of it’s resemblance of an elk’s heart, a bunch of local artists got together and painted elks that were placed all over the county. Some of them were really cool and exhibited the true spirit of the community, the industry that gives inhabitants their bread and butter, and the culture. Recently they were taken down and auctioned off for charity. Although a noble idea, I would have rather they left the elks where they were. Unfortunately, no one asked me. I can honestly say that the Indians packed up their teepees by the time I came along although their influence can still be felt in the names adopted for streets, schools, and shopping centers around town.
I was born at the local hospital in 1968. Except for a short stint in college and 11 years when I was first married, I have lived in Elkhart all my life. It is funny. While in high school, most folks couldn’t wait to get out of town and explore the world. I was no different. Still my roots led me back. My parents were born and raised here as well, and their presence held the most appeal to me. I longed to be close to them… and that fact more than anything else drew me back home.
After living in Nashville, Tennessee I appreciated the fact I knew my home town like the back of my hand. I didn’t need a road map to find my way from A to B, and I didn’t have to deal with rush hour traffic on the interstate to get where I was going. Being a person that don’t do change well, it makes sense my life would be lived out here where it began watching my kids grow up in the same landscape I did. In the end, I have thrived in the familiar. Sure it is fun to visit and see other places, but those places will never be home. I have only lived 4 different places in my life, and I learned when I moved that home was more than a house or the town I lived in. Home was where my family were and where my heart will always be. Until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a truckers wife.
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