I feel like I am losing a friend...

In 1993, I moved from the medium sized city of Chillicothe, Ohio, to Porter Hollow Road, a small one lane road outside of Frankfort, Ohio (pop 2,000) surrounded on both sides by big hills, trees and meadows. I didn't have the greatest childhood, we moved out there after my mother married for the third time, I had been abused (not by my mother, and I haven't ever told anyone about it) at least three times, and I had never really spent much time in the country. I was used to being in a school of over 1,000 and going to a school of about 500, if that, I didn't know anyone, and I was 11 years old and SURE I would hate it.

But I didn't, my two new cousins, Abe and Rob, lived across the street and up a huge hill and they had lived out there their entire lives. I discovered what we called "The Game", almost like hide and seek inside 600 acres of woods, hills, and field. I discovered happiness again, from the time school let out to the time it started back up again, my cousins, my brother, and myself NEVER spent the night indoors, rain or shine, storms or drought, the only time it seemed we came inside was to grab a bit to eat and we were out the door again to slide down the shale hills (ripping god only knows how many pairs of pants), camp, hike, explore, play "King of the Mountain", have a bonfire, explore some more, and so on.

I was happy, I loved it, I discovered who I was, I learned to love the outdoors, I had my first beer on a camping trip on the back hill we called Pennisen Hill, we named all the trails and flat areas where the logging company down the road had select cut a few trees here and there with names such as "Turtle Crossing", "The Landing", "Top Meadow", "Blackboard Camp", and made a club house out of an old log cabin down the road that was abandoned, we called ourselves the "Porter Hollow Posse".

The time I spent here was finally what I considered "home" even though the marriage only lasted about 3 years, it was THE three years of my life. After the divorce, we moved to the other side of Frankfort, but I still spent almost every weekend with my (former) cousins up on the hills of Porter Hollow Road. We moved a total of 17 times before I turned 16, marriages, divorces, and just out and out moves. I always knoew though, that no matter where I was at, those hills called me home. The same was true when I joined the military, everytime I went home on leave, I always made it a point to take a 4-wheeler up on the hill, because after I did that, I knew I had been "home" and I felt better.

Earlier this year "Na-maw" Porter, passed away after a long fight with emphazima. She actually owned the 600 acres of heaven, and she had four sons, David, my former stepdad, Ed, my cousins' dad, Pete, and Tommy. She left some of the land to each of the boys but the rest was to be distributed evenly and if they couldn't come to an agreement then ALL of it was to be sold off. Well, Ed wanted to keep it all in the family, but David, Pete, and Tommy all wanted to sell it all off and take the money. Ed bought all the land on his side of the road, but couldn't afford to take the rest of it so on the 15th of November, they are auctioning off the remaining 356 acres unless someone comes up with the $900,000 they are asking before the auction.

The land they are selling off is the land we, as boys, had grown up on, had learned who we were, and had learned to love. I can honestly say that when I think of America, I think of Porter Hollow Road and the times I spent there as a young boy. That is a lot of the reason I joined the military, it is where I learned to hunt, fish, and survive on berries, bugs, sasafrass, and all other kinds of things. Where I learned to maintain my sanity and put the past in the past and leave it there.

On the 15th of November at 10am, a huge chunk of my life will go away forever. I will no longer have a "home" to go to to recharge my batteries, no longer have a place to hunt deer, squirrels, rabbits, bobcats, or look for copperheads. No longer have a place to take my future kids to camp, to show the way of the land, to hunt, or to tell tales of MY childhood and all the time I spent wearing out jeans and shoes. My cousins and I are torn as to whether we want to go to the auction, to watch as our childhood goes to the highest bidder, tract by tract, or to stay home and just drink beer and remember the good times we spent there.

I feel like I am losing a member of my family, or my best friend; wierd how a chunk of land can make you feel like crying...