What’s really strange about a daughter moving to Franklin is that it is my birthplace. When she was at Vanderbilt in Nashville, this daughter went to church in Franklin. Once, when the hubby and I went for a visit we accompanied her there, and when we walked by a building built of flagstone, I experienced some kind of weird flashback. It looked so familiar for no reason I could recollect. Then, it hit me. I remembered a photo of my mother standing on steps of a building that looked like the one we had just passed holding a baby, either me or my brother.
Following the service, I went into the building which was then a nursing home and asked if it had ever been anything else. Yes, I was told, at one time it had been a hospital. That moment was like capturing a piece of long lost history.
Just being in Franklin then and now revived memories of my great grandmother whose house I lived in as a very young child. Later, when we visited, I remembered cousins playing hide and seek in all its nooks and crannies. I remembered loving to comb Mammy’s long silvery hair. I remembered my grandfather sitting in a chair by the fire place smoking a pipe and later teaching me to duplicate his incredible penmanship. I remembered swinging on the front porch and playing the out of tune organ in the closed door front room.
Today, the square with its original buildings is still there, but the town has become quite a chic place. No doubt the country music stars who have migrated from Nashville have something to do with that.
The little girls thought I would like Philanthropy which was full of very hip clothing. Oh, if only I were a few years younger and a size 2!
On other visits, there will be much more to see, but for now this is a glimpse of the small town that both my daughter and I will at different times have called home.