A Stroll Down Memory Lane via Streetview

This evening I Google Street Viewed some of my childhood haunts. It's just plain weird.

I virtually "stood" in front of the house I grew up in. My entire world revolved around those woods, those narrow streets. I "toured" the neighborhood and emotions, memories came flooding back. I'd been back numerous times in my adult life. My parents moved out of the house probably ten years ago now, but Memaw and Pawpaw lived just one street over. Pawpaw died a few years after my parents moved away and Memaw died about 2 years ago, which was the last time I was in the neighborhood. It wasn't freaky to see my old neighborhood so much as it was freaky to see it on Google. I mean when I grew up, rotary phones and a microwave were the most technologically advanced things we owned. I didn't know the first thing about computers, and a thing such as the internet was completely unfathomable. I'm having trouble connecting Google and Huffman, Texas in my mind.

The real trouble came when I took a virtual tour of Memaw and Pawpaw's old lake house. That's what we called it, "the lake house." It was basically a barn nestled among thick forest on the shore of a small slough of Lake Livingston. ("Slough" is pronounced like "cow," but my family to this day pronounces it like "slew." At any rate, a slough is a swampy area with a lot of trees.) The lake house was accessible only by a really fun (to a kid) single lane dirt road full of pot holes that meandered through some pretty impressive hills. When Memaw and Pawpaw bought the place, they were among the very first. Except for an occasional cabin or travel trailer, it was all woods. Miles and miles of thick woods. They didn't live there, it was just a getaway place for the family. It was a three room barn: downstairs was just a big room with Memaw and Pawpaw's bed, an expandable table with chairs, a stove, refrigerator and some kitchen cabinets, and the bathroom (the second of the three rooms.) The upstairs was just a wide open space with storage nooks around the perimeter for fishing tackle, tools, the hammock, marshmallow roasting implements, boat anchors, life jackets and other wonderful things. There were also three beds up there.

The lake house, painted barn red, had power and running water, but no air conditioning, no heat, no phone and no television. It was bare bones - literally a glorified barn, minimally intrusive to the land, and surrounded by woods. It was heaven. Seriously, when I was a kid there was no happier place on earth than Memaw and Pawpaw's lake house. We normally went for a week at a time, and rarely did we go when Memaw and Pawpaw weren't also up. And the absolute best time was when my dad's sister and her family joined us as well. Actually, that's not true. The absolute best times were when my dad's sister's family and Memaw's brother's large family, who owned a lot with no permanent buildings on the other side of the slough, were also up. In the very best of times, it would be Mom and dad and my brother Daniel, Aunt Kiku (that's Karen Sue to those of you who don't speak five year old), Uncle Kenneth, baby cousin Holly, Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Men (don't know where that nickname came from), Gary and Corinne, little cousin Ricky, Jan and Steve Earl, Grandaddy, Memaw and Pawpaw, and a lot of other kids that would be born into the family (I'm the eldest of all the kids and grandkids.) Man those were the good old days. What I wouldn't give for the chance to have just one day to go back and see everyone again.

I remember it was so hot up there in the summer, but when the sun went down it felt perfect to me. I remember many a hot afternoon sitting on a rotten old pier under some massive shade trees, watching my cork sit there in that murky water. I remember the ducks and the alligators that would swim by, and the thousands of turtles and dragonflies, frogs, crawfish, snakes, raccoons and birds. I remember multitudes of those iridescent little sunfishes - the Bluegill, the Longear, the Readear, the Warmouth - fishes whose names I didn't know but whose patterns and striking colors never ceased to amaze me. I'd catch them on meal worms and grasshoppers, always careful to remove the hook and quickly, gently put them back into their watery home.

I remember the bats that came out at dusk, and how I used to throw rocks not at them but in front of them to watch them dive and swoop at what they clearly thought were tasty insects in a nose dive. I remember how excited mom would get when she caught a crappie while fishing off the pier with minnows. I remember my dad cleaning dozens and dozens of fish from a successful day out in the boat. I remember the smell of the fish and the smell of the water and the smell of the dirt and the forest. I remember hunting for turtle shells among the tall weeds in the marshy recesses - and finding them. I've still got three perfect specimens in my home office. I remember how those wriggling worms and minnows felt in my hands. I remember the cool splash of the water on a scorching hot day.

I remember the day a kid drown just a few hundred yards away from where I was fishing.

I remember a man who used to play guitar somewhere on the other side of the slough. I could never see him, but I remember his music. I remember waking at 5AM to the smell of Memaw's biscuits, coffee and bacon. I remember the time I was walking alone in the woods and saw a pure white squirrel. I remember when that rickety old pier finally gave way, and mom fell through it. I remember the huge bruises it left on her legs. I remember how I protested fiercely when the adults decided it was time to replace that old pier with a new one. I remember digging up enormous freshwater mussels from the shore. I remember the wonderful, incessant buzzing of cicadas in the hot still air. I remember Memaw's old cane pole - the perfect size for a grandmother or a grandson, and that little red cork. I remember the two of us sitting by the water watching a dragonfly balance on the tip of the pole while she sang "Over in the Meadow" to me.

I remember eating cornmeal-battered fried fish we had caught that same day. I remember how Memaw loved eating fried fish eggs. I remember the biggest fish I ever caught. It was a largemouth bass. It was so big, mom and dad had it stuffed and it hung on my bedroom wall for years. I remember Pawpaw's big old red canoe - hand made of solid wood, and how I loved paddling around the swampiest, quietest parts of the slough. I was always amazed at how many mysterious and beautiful creatures lived there among the mosses and the lily pads.

I remember this and a thousand more things, all of which overwhelmed me as Google Street View took me back. Even the old lake house has been found by Google. I just can't believe it. Of course it bears little resemblance to the heavenly playground I knew as a child. Most of the roads are paved and most of the trees are gone. The few old cabins have been replaced by the many brick houses packed wall to wall. Woods have been replaced with St. Augustine grass and chain link fences. The natural shorelines have all been bulkheaded. There are no more swampy recesses for giant old red ear sliders to haul out and die in peace.

And as for the old lake house itself? It's now painted white, has a concrete driveway, and is almost completely obscured by an enormous metal carport. There's a pre-fab house behind it, right where we used to roast marshmallows over the campfire. There's a storage shed where the hammock used to hang between two oak trees, now long gone. The leaf litter where, as a child I invariably got thorns, burrs, gumballs and every other sharp local plant material stuck in my bare feet at least once every visit, is now a uniform carpet of green grass in the open sunlight.

Dusty tree covered roads that at one time were visited only by the occasional beat up old pickup are now lined with mailboxes and sporty, shiny little SUV's. Memaw's lake house now has a bricked three car garage with a concrete driveway sitting next to it. I can't help but wonder at the process of it all. I imagine it goes something like this:

A suburban couple drives out looking for a place to "get away from it all." How perfect honey! Look at all the trees and wildlife. And there's the lake! Won't this make the perfect hideaway? So they buy a lot, cut down the trees and pour a slab. They immediately set out to build a bulkhead to keep their new property from washing away, and of course they'll need a dock and a boat lift for the new boat. The house will, of course, need air conditioning, telephone, television, washer and dryer, dishwasher and all those other things that make life grand. The lot will, of course, need to be planted in carpet grass and fertilized and watered. They'll need a paved driveway, a garage for the SUV, a storage shed for the lawnmower and all of the things they can't stuff into their storage shed back home in the 'burbs. The whole thing will need a fence to keep other people out and Mitzie and Fritzie the Pomeranians in, and darn it let's complain until these roads get paved. Oh and then let's tell our best friends about this wonderful place so they too can come up and buy property and build houses because won't it be just so much fun to have our neighbors up for a good 'ol time out "away from it all?" Ah yes. And then a few years go by and they look around and think darnit, they really need a place away from all these houses and people - you know, some place with woods and wildlife where they can truly get away from it all.

And that, I think, is how Memaw's extremely modest little lake house, my childhood paradise which they sold after I moved off to college, came to look like any other suburban shit hole.

Yes, I'm bitter about it.

For the life of me I can't understand why people always need to "improve" everything. Is no one ever satisfied? Is nothing sacred? Do so few of us really understand that it isn't air conditioning and television and excess that bring fulfillment and joy into our lives? What exactly is appealing about a wooded lake retreat out in nature if the first thing you feel compelled to do is cut down the woods, pave the roads, wall off the shore, drive off the wildlife and build a replica of your Wal-Mart house back home? You're going drive to the lake house to watch TV and eat microwave dinners in the air conditioning? What am I missing here?

I toured the rest of the streets in the area and, I'm happy to report, there are still a fair number of streets that are virtually unchanged. There are still large tracts of woods and rustic old cabins and houses that look the same today as I remember them 30 years ago. There are even some streets that still can't honestly be called "paved." Even the dead end road where a six year old Bubba (me), mom and Aunt Kiku, while out for a walk one summer afternoon, encountered that "giant" garter snake which forced them to turn around as I fought tooth and nail to get a closer look, is still there, is still dirt, and is still surrounded by trees. And knowing that, I think I might be able to sleep peacefully tonight after all.

Goodnight Memaw, wherever you are. Thank you for everything.