Memory Road

a summer sojourn

Hello my Friends - - I’ve missed you. I hope you are well. Welcome to my summer sojourn down memory road.

A short detour and there they are - - the narrow bridge that flooded in spring, the hill that got icy in winter and the curve where the school bus almost went into a ditch.¹

At the top of the ‘Big Hill',’ I remember the icy night after our school’s holiday Revels when there was too much ice and I worried we’d have to walk home in the storm.² I worried a lot. I still do, but less so. Do I dare go on?

Yes. Because that’s what I do, right? Dive in. Face what needs to be faced. Wrestle with the ‘thing,’ until I figure out the puzzle of the moment.

After a few more twists and turns, past driveways leading to old friends long gone, I stop and let a truck pass.

This is the half-way spot. One mile back to Route 22 and roads more traveled; One mile deeper into the woods to our house.

I remember the first time I ran to this spot on my own, walk-man in hand. I’ve walked in many different places this summer, but at this moment, time stands still.³

Walking Feet, Summer 2026 Photographs by Lyn Swett Miller

The stone walls, familiar on either side of the road. Trees growing where there was once a platform tennis court. Summer insects sing their summer songs. I hear my field hockey coach asking in a mean kind of way “why did your parents move to the boonies?” I didn’t know what the boonies were, but it made me feel bad.⁴

Further along, there’s the field where five balloons landed one evening - - The Posted sign and gate haven’t changed in forty years. Another twist and turn and there’s my grandmother’s driveway. My white sneakers and summer dress are so like her white Keds and summer dresses.⁵

I smell her peonies, the herbs from her garden and the musty scent of the guest bathroom. Should I try taking a swim in her pond? No way. I actually never liked ponds. I’ve got her spark, but not her willingness to skinny dip with water snakes.

Down , up and I’m there, at our driveway. My home from 1971 to 1985. I remember cold mornings when my brother, sister and I waited for the bus, sitting on a rock at the base of a small tree. The rock’s still there. The tree’s bigger.

Memories. I’ve been processing them a lot this year while making and photographing my ‘Memoir in Stitches,’ and while writing a ‘Memoir in Essays.’

Each sentence, each stitch offers reflection and solace - - A processing of people, places and emotions. We were never given a chance to grieve when we left this beautiful, isolated home ‘in the boonies.’

It was there I learned how to be alone and live with loneliness, but with the sky, trees, stone walls and bumps and curves in the road as companions, I also cultivated a relationship to place that runs deep, and I am grateful.⁶

Who knew my GPS re-route that saved me 45 minutes would guide me to the very place I needed to be? Life is funny that way.

Hope you’ve been able to enjoy some delicious fresh tomatoes and cucumbers this summer. When we moved to ‘the boonies,’ my mother started an organic vegetable garden with abundant fresh produce. I can’t imagine a summer without these staples.

With gratitude for you being you,

Lyn

1. Last Thursday was a long day - - I drove from a Kinship Studio Residency in Cumberland, MD to a family vacation in Maine. The detour was to avoid traffic on the Merritt Parkway in Connecticut. The residency was amazing. More on that another time, but here’s a link to online portfolio I curated while there with the help of others there: Memoir in Stitches

2. We climbed into the ‘way back’ giving traction in our rear-wheel drive station wagon and made it.

3. Gravel in Cumberland, MD; Crosswalk near The Mall of America in Minneapolis; Path in the Minnesota Valley National Wildlife Refuge, a mile from the airport and the mall; At the bottom of my driveway during this memory tour; Sidewalk, Minneapolis; Sidewalk, Cumberland, MD.

I was in Minneapolis for the biennial “Puzzle Parley” for wooden puzzle people. Wouldn’t it be cool to have my compost photographs be wooden puzzles? I’m working on it.

4. Belonging matters. I belonged on this long dirt road with my grandparents next door and their old friends in houses down the road, but I did not belong in the community ten miles away where I went to school - - where the action was at The Club and the church where friends sang in the choir. That feeling of being in a certain place, but outside of it as well, solidified for me in my childhood home. It would take me decades to learn how to be a good friend. I just didn’t get any practice as a kid!

5. Grandma had attitude. She knew what she liked, wore Keds sneakers and colorful clothes and knew how to how fun - - like letting us hoot and holler sitting in the back of her red convertible VWBug on our way to the beach. It’s a wonder we survived.

My parents moved to Vermont just five years after my grandfather died (he was 15 years older than her). She sustained her joy for a good decade, but she was really lonely in those last 5 years of her life when her friends were dying and she, too, lived down this long dirt road in ‘the boonies’ and couldn’t drive as easily to be with others.

6. In June I completed the first draft of my memoir manuscript, which reveals more about my childhood and the importance of place in my life. I’ll be editing and revising during the coming months and will share bits and pieces along the way. It’s such a gift to give voice to feelings and experiences long buried.

My daughter thinks this photograph is weird. I like it. If you look in the lens of my glasses, you’ll see the triangular window of the ‘upper end’ (loft) where I had my bedroom for a few years. It was a cool house.