Yesterday the curmudgeonette and I returned from a quick trip to Mohall, ND. We lived there from July '68 until Nov. '75. While we were living there, Lars, our son was born.
It was my first call and I left a big piece of my heart when I left. Living there those early years of our marriage I thought of Mohall much as one imagines a lake. Water levels may rise and fall a bit and there are certain events that make splashes. But I imagined the basic structure was permanent and was not subject to change.
I was wrong. It would have been more accurately descriptive to think of Mohall (by which I mean the entire area) like a river. Someone has said that you can't step in the same river twice...it changes so fast.
Visiting is a melancholy experience for me. Many (most?)of the people have scattered. In the 35 years since we left many have died. The vibrant business district is almost totally gone. The hospital has closed and the doctors are gone.
In my heart I want it to be as I left it, which, of course, is a totally unrealistic expectation. Still, I can't help but feel a sense of melancholy when I'm there. However, seeing a few people who remember our time together was really sweet.
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