They say, “You can’t go home again.” But our family does. Every time we have a reunion in June. One special time we “went home again” was the year we all met at my brother Paul’s in Watango, Oklahoma. He lived in a two-story white frame house. Paul’s house was modern, with a nice kitchen with running water and a bathroom. Other than those differences, it was much like the farmhouse we grew up in west of Gravette. The year we gathered at Paul’s was 1998. All my brothers and sisters were there except Bobby and Max, who had died. Mom was also gone. There were many nieces and nephews who joined us and we had a great time. When we drove up that year in our motorhome, we parked in his huge lawn with big trees, just like I remembered our farm in northwest Arkansas. We immediately got on horses for a trail ride. I actually got a horse all by myself. When we were growing up, there were so many of us kids we had to share horses and I don’t remember ever riding alone. But this time, as I walked my horse past a huge gard
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Opinion, Pages 4 on 06/23/2010
Print Headline: Going Home Memories