Piedmont, Missouri

Visiting my relatives is what brought me to Piedmont, Missouri but the experience was even more personal than that. I attended school in Piedmont at least for some period of time in first grade and again in third grade. I spent what felt like every weekend in Piedmont from early childhood through high school. During summers I would spend a week with one or the other grandmother. And one fateful summer, my parents and sisters went off to Columbus, Ohio and left me with my grandparents. If I had any teenage social life, it was during that summer. My first kiss, boyfriends, parking (and I don't mean cars) -- these were part of my Piedmont experience.  Of course I have memories from those times that are mine alone and not part of family history per se.  They all came flooding back.




The first realization upon turning onto Highway 49, a route travelled in my youth, was that more than twenty years of growth changes the landscape significantly. Roads were canopied where once clear sky reigned. Where once I saw an empty field, I saw homes and businesses. I clearly remember junk yards and abandoned wrecks rusting here and there as we made our way to Grandma's. Those were not in evidence on this trip. The road that once caused car sickness with its twists and turns, seemed a pleasant winding road. Rather than a torturous route full of potential for accidents, it was a driver's delight, full of interesting sights and enough curves to require a driver's attention to the road, what I consider real driving.



The same was true of the Piedmont itself. Over twenty years of businesses coming and going, buildings going up or being torn down has changed the face of this little town.  It starts sooner and ends later as one travels the main road through it. When we rode to the top of the hill my grandmother lived on, and that I visited frequently as a girl, it was clear that here, too, nature has gone unchecked. Not only can the house not be seen from town, the town can't be seen from the hill. A very different perspective, I can tell you. No more the grand view and accompanying feeling of majesty. Just another house on a hill in the woods. And not a very impressive house at that.  Gone were the various out buildings I once explored as a child.  Gone was the old outhouse.  Gone the flower beds.  In truth, there was nothing much that remained as I remembered.  Well, almost.  The gravel road leading to this place was always rutted and needing attention.  That hasn't changed.



 I've always loved hill country.  I can't prove it but I believe that the need for hills is encoded in my DNA. I can travel across the flat lands of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois and appreciate their unique beauty but when I find myself in rolling hills, my appreciation is felt right down to my bones. My spirits lift. My mind clears. I feel more alive. The Ozarks definitely felt like home. Add that it's spring. Ah, the wonder of it. Red buds in full bloom blushing here and there among the trees. Dogwoods flashing their plains of white. Small leaves of butter green creating a haze around what were only a few days ago bare branches. The waters of the creeks, branches, and streams running clear.  Driving through this country in some ways brought back more memories than standing on Grandma's hill.  Positive memories of the best of family times.  I feel more at home and enjoy spring more in the hills.