This past May I visited the town where I taught country school from 1980 – 1985. I’d been back there several times since we moved away, but this time was different. Always before the tiny South Dakota town, Camp Crook, looked pretty much the same. And the modular trailers that formed the four room, K – 8 elementary school were unchanged.
But not this time. The tan modular unit that housed my old classroom was gone, replaced by a spiffy gray building. Sure one tan modular unit remained, but my old classroom was gone, and I was slightly disconcerted. The feeling reared its ugly head again this week when I got the countywide newspaper. I subscribe to the paper as part of my research for a future mystery novel set in that remote corner of the world. When I read the “Meet the New Teachers” section, I had quite a shock. One of the students from my first class, a first grader way back when, had been hired to teach the upper grades in the Camp Crook school. And her two little girls would be attending there, too.
I didn’t feel disconcerted any more. I felt old. I guess it was bound to happen someday, and today is a good a day to face the wrinkled truth. I’m getting older. I’ve dealt with that truth concerning my husband, but since he’s five months older than me I’ve had plenty of time. Still, maybe it’s time to open the AARP literature stuffed in our mailbox on a regular basis. Throwing those offending envelopes into the trash won’t make me any younger even if it does keep my kitchen counters clutter-free.
I’ve come up with a better plan. Whenever I start feeling older, I’ll work on the mystery novel set in the area. Whenever I go back there in my memory I feel young again, like the newly married greenhorn I was when we moved there in 1978. And after a few hours writing about driving down the long gravel roads, fighting the grasshoppers and using the outhouse whenever the electricity went off I won’t mind coming back to civilization, even if I’m no spring chicken in this day and age.
Good plan, I think. So if you’ll excuse me, the fountain of youth is calling. I’ve got a scene to write…
