May 19 – 28

Back Home Again in Indiana… (“Back Home Again in Indiana " is a song composed by James F. Hanley with lyrics by Ballard MacDonald that was published in January 1917.)

Having heard the song perhaps a hundred times or more in my lifetime, the tune stuck in my heard for the ten days of my familial visit, despite my personal prejudices: too many ultraconservatives, too cold in the winter, being stuck in an isolated rural town with a dysfunctional family for my formative years, (8-18), and limited opportunity for self-expression, top the list. However, I was born, raised and educated in the Hoosier heartland. What can I say?

Currently, it is home to my two grown sons and daughter, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. It is also very familiar territory, so I know my way around. There are only a handful of cities that I would label as urban centers in Indiana. For the most part, Indiana is farms and suburbia. My kids opted for suburbia.

Seeing family is a must, any chance I am given. In the past, on an annual basis, I have traveled directly to southern Indiana by plane, bus, car, any means to get me there. Although I have taken an alternate route, I am very happy to be here. My two sons live about five miles apart in Jeffersonville, Indiana, on the west bank of the Ohio River, across from Louisville, Kentucky. To the locals this part of the country is known as Kentuckiana.

I began my family visits at the home of my eldest son, Jonathan, making it a three-day stay there. I was a bit saddened by the fact that my two oldest grand-kids, Chrissy and Alex, were no longer at the house as they are both in their twenties and living on their own. Chrissy had gone away to college and had decided to stay with her grandmother in Iowa during the summer break this year. I would get to see Alex and my two great-grandchildren later in the Indiana chapter of my travels.

Meanwhile, Eva and Nevar, Theresa, (Jon’s second wife’s teen-age children), hovered about the house during my visit there. Both were out of school for the summer. Jonathan talked about his job and we delved into politics and current events, as well. Because he works for a large corporate entity, and is surrounded by neighbors with more conservative ideologies, he generally keeps most of his opinions to himself. I think he was pleased to share his world-view with a like-minded listener.

Over the years, Jon and I have shared a passion for writing, art, and music. The latter of which manifested in his picking up a guitar and quickly mastering some simple tunes. He has been using YouTube videos to learn and is making a good deal of progress. I had brought my guitar and we spent some time jamming together, He will be a better player than me in no time.

He has always had an eye for art and though his works may be few and far between, I am always impressed by his painting subjects and techniques. The same can be said for his ongoing foray into the world of writing. He has a thing for horror stories.

Theresa has a penitent for arts and crafts. I think she really enjoys shopping for various materials for her projects, as much as engaging in the projects themselves. Her two children are growing older and bigger every day it seems. Time passes so quickly.

Jon works from home three days a week. It was all week during the Covid years. He has always been one to help take care of the kids and tend to the upkeep and maintenance of the house. The three days with his family were relaxed and easy-going for me. Jon, on the other hand was tethered to his workplace by phone. Interactions with his subordinates and supervisors went on from early morning to late in the evening. He noted that he was on-call for late night emergencies, as well. He is making good money and doesn’t seem to mind the occasional interruptions.

Overall, it was a pleasant visit, but as time was limited, I knew I had to move on.

After many years of visiting, I also had no trouble finding the house of my youngest son, Norman, (aka Max), in the middle of its suburban maze.

His two children were out of school for the summer but scheduled to go off to summer programs and vacations with Arezou, his wife’s, parents. I only had three days to hang with each family, so I wanted to soak up the goings-ons, ever amazed at how fast the grandchildren were growing up. My granddaughter, Isis, had just turned sixteen, was currently dating a young man she had only recently met and was making for the typical nervous parents’ syndrome. Her younger brother enjoyed a significant comradery amongst the neighborhood kids, many near his own age of ten.

As I have, in times past, come to visit when I had the best chance of catching everyone together, I still embraced the element of normalcy, as both Max and Arezou, my daughter-in-law, were working their weekday jobs. Max was working from home most days, sitting in front of a computer screen or making and fielding work-related phone calls.

Regardless, my son and I were able to spend a great deal of time together. We touched on many things over the few days I was there. My youngest is the least interested in politics or current events, content to keep his head down and to make the best of his own corporate job. As I traveled across the country and talked to a handful of friends, relatives, and strangers, I came to realize that many were doing the same thing. In these turbulent times, it seems, most folks just want to earn a decent living and maintain the status quo.

Beyond that, Max is also big into movies, tv series and the gaming world. Especially in the realm of action/adventure, sci fi, and fantasy films and series, he knows all the ins and outs of the actors, directors, and producers. I am always fascinated by his insights and in his off time we watched a whole lot of streaming stuff.

As far as the kids went, Isis was a typical teen-age girl trying to find her own space. She did share that although most things bored her, she had a fascination for welding. I thought that was cool. Tyrion was all about Pokémon cards and trying to sneak watch scary movies and tv shows. Most of the time, he was outside running with his friends.

On the second day there we drove to a place called Huber’s Orchards, a winery and “pick-your own” berries farm, up in the hills above New Albany. It was a fun family day and we rode a flatbed trailer pulled by a tractor to a field where we all hand-picked a box of strawberries. Afterwards, the kids hung out in a play area and we had lunch before setting off back down the hill.

The evening of our final day together, we, (as we have done several times in the past), put together a summer cookout and mini bonfire. His neighbor, and good friend, and his family joined us, as well as, my son Jon and his wife, Theresa, and her two youngins. Isis’ boy-friend was there too.

It was a delightful evening. Again, it was with a heavy heart that I would bid them all farewell and head out the following morning.

From left to right: Nevar, Theresa, Jonathan, my oldest son, Eva,

Max, my youngest (in the back), Isis' boyfriend with dog Isis,

Tyrion, (in front), Arezou, and me...

Next, I would make my way sixty or so miles to the northwest to Bloomington, Indiana. In order to get there, I would take a route that was, and still is, etched like a scar into my psyche, state road 60.

I was born just off of this two-lane road, between it and the parallel railroad tracks that have, in the past ten years been abandoned for their lack of use. Five miles further north, with those same tracks a mere block away, I endured a 10 year stretch of both physical and psychological abuse. Many years later, it would be ground zero for a bitter divorce.

I avert my eyes from this all-too-familiar town, gazing intently forward for the sixty or so seconds that it takes to pass through its heart. I have made mention of these childhood trials and tribulations in previous writings. As I travel the length of Washington County the memories resurface and are stirred within me once again. As I pass familiar landmarks, the scattered farms, the county courthouse, and the road leading to a three-hundred-acre parcel of wilderness and caves, previously owned by my mother’s parents, now part of the state park system, I try to block out the loss that is carried with it. I want this trip to be filled with adventure and the chance for new beginnings, especially with family.

Bloomington, Indiana, is a good-sized city, with the main campus of Indiana University at its heart. My daughter, Vicky, has multiple degrees in education and art derived from this prestigious institution. She met her husband there and bore two children, girls, Lana and Nadia. Her husband, Matt, was a local, also attending the university when they first met.

It is always fun to visit this family. She, like my sons, has a liberal leaning, but perhaps more so. She has raised her daughters, now 13 and 11, respectively, to be free thinkers and well educated for their ages.

The girls were enjoying the beginning of their summer break. My daughter is currently teaching art at a local elementary school and was enjoying the down time, as well. The three days I spent in their home were leisurely, to say the least.

Her husband, Matt, works from home, emerging from his “office” from time to time for a meal or to spend the evening with the family. He is a freelance programmer, by trade, and contributes much to the comfort and security of his family.

My daughter and I talked a good deal about politics and current affairs with similar misgivings to the state of the nation, at least in our view. Lana and Nadia mostly talked about school and whatever would be going on, on any given day.

Vicky has long championed my enthusiasm for fishing. When I could, I took my three kids out camping and fishing. Almost every visit now, she sets in motion a local fishing trip. This time around was no different. After going online to get us all a temporary fishing license, we set out the gear and made ready for the expedition. A front of light rain passed over us on the second day but by the third day it had passed.

We had gone out to Lake Lemon the year before, fishing off of a friend’s moored boat. We all caught at least one fish, except Matt who was content reading a digital book from his perch on a deck just above the boat. I know he looked up from time to time as shouts of the anglers announced fish on the line. In the end, we caught six fish, mostly bluegill, of edible size which we would fry up the next morning.

There was one glitch, however, in our grand excursion. The fishing spot was at the base of a steep incline, maybe 50 or more feet almost straight up and down.. Wooden steps had been put in at some point. Unfortunately, the distance to the top, as we returned to our vehicles proved overwhelming to me. About two-thirds the way up, my heart was beating like a drum and I could hardly catch my breath. I knew this was a bad sign, as per my weak heart. I stopped and tried to settle myself down so I could continue the remainder of the climb. Matt and his friend noticed my distress and helped me the remainder of the way, pausing a second time, before reaching the top.

It definitely put me off as to how fragile my health really is. So as not to alarm the family, I made little mention of it between the incident and the time I left the following day. I did, however, spend an hour or so that next morning, looking over their fishing tackle, especially focusing on the poles.

Patiently, I untangled and re-hooked the lines so that they would be ready for their next outing. It was the thing to do. Around noon, on yet another overcast day, I would reluctantly say my farewells.

Left to right: Nadia, Lana, daughter Vicky, and Matt

Left to right: Elowyn, Kayla, Atlas and grandson Alex

By the evening of the 28th, I had made my way north on Interstate 69 to the outskirts of Indianapolis. Recently, my grandson Alex and his family, wife Kayla, four-year-old son Atlas and three-year-old Elowyn, had been transferred by the Air Force to Plainfield, from where he would be working as a local recruiter.

In yet another, suburban setting, I would get to spend a few hours with them as we enjoyed a fine Italian meal at a local restaurant. The kids were kids as the adults visited. Although only a brief stop, I was quite happy that I got to touch base with my grandson, Jonathan’s oldest, and his family.

As it was just after 7 p.m. when we parted, I decided to make some road time, taking I-65 north. Looking over my Rand McNally road atlas, I opted to avoid Gary and the greater Chicago area, which I would bypass by way of U.S. 24 west, a two-lane highway that got me to Interstate 39.

I drove past the 39 intersect and went about 20 miles before realizing I needed to turn around. This was not the first nor the last of my little off-road tours. Unfortunately, as it had long been dark, there would not be much to see. However, I did come across a long stretch of wind farms, hundreds of wind turbines churning away in central Illinois.

I-39 would take me to Peru, Illinois where I spent the night in yet another Walmart parking lot.

The Great American Road Trip 2025 - Chapter 2

by Michael S. True