The World is Missing an Obernburg

When I was a kid my granny had a house upstate NY just outside of this tiny little one-intersection town called Obernburg.  It cost nothing as it had been passed down from generation to generation in my pop-pops family, and it was in a town with a population so small the "school" was literally a loft in the church with maybe 4-5 farmer's kids and all mixed up grades.  I mean, this was Little House in the Prairie time.

   It was only a summer home for us that my uncle Robert would occasionally visit in the winter to hunt.  We'd open every Memorial Day weekend and close every Columbus Day in the fall.  But every summer vacation, every weekend in between almost, someone was always visiting and for whoever it was it became a fairly annual tradition. 

   I wouldn't say we were a very rich family, but I remember being at least comfortable for a while.  There weren't too many modern conveniences there (if you don't count the running water and electric oven).  You had to climb a long hill and follow a long dirt road to get there.  The things that stood out was that there was a giant Lilac bush right outside my granny's bedroom windows (always blooming opening weekend), a wood burning stove and separate fireplace that was the only source of heat for the two hemispheres in the house, several small bedrooms (it was almost littered with them), two pits on the hill, one for barbarque and one for garbage, and great big front porch lined with mismatched rocking chairs.

   It wasn't any one of these particulars that lent this place it's magic.  I've since been to many one-intersection towns, and barbaqued on several different barbaque pits.  I've even come to envy some of the more modern conveniences of other people's homes in the country.  None of that was what made this place special.

   There was no just "stopping by" as it was hours away from really ...anything.  And there was no TV, so when you were up you were engaging.  Each swarm of people who came had their own charm and each bring back such unique little memories I won't share here because I can't.  They are a part now of the very fabric of me.  

   Years later, as my granny retired she had to make a choice of whether to keep Obernburg, or sell it and continue her "real" life in the city.  In the end she thought she chose to be close to family.

   It's ironic though as for me it seems that was the end of family.  No more long weekends working together to complete the chores of opening the blankets, taking the rock off the chimneys, or mowing and weed whacking the tremendous lawns.  No more revolving doors of company.  No more late nights playing board games at the table, rocking with the old folks on the porch, or lying out under the stars up on the hill.  No more long uninterrupted chats.  No more swarms of people looking into each other's eyes or side by side watching whatever.  No more real sharing.  No more clear memories.  No more laughter.

   But whenever I catch a scent of Lilac, or cedar and moth balls, I'm back.  Clear summer skies, long afternoons, and stars so close and plentiful you could almost literally taste them.  The world needs a little Obernburg again.  I'm not sure what is wrong with all of us, but that I know now for sure.