The Sound of Longing

I just sat down at my tablet to do some reading. I'm currently in the bar of the jungle lodge I've been working at for the past few months. Looking out the window, banana trees and dense jungle are the forefront for cloudy, Panamanian skies. The room I'm in is decorated with funky paintings of pit vipers and colorful amazons. There is no backlit Budweiser sign behind the bar, but a collage of piecemeal flattened Balboa cans. My setting is not my usual one. I am not at home.

I put on my headphones and opened TuneIn Radio. This has been my closest replacement for Pandora, which doesn't work outside the U.S. I selected Bluegrass as the genre of radio for my little study session. I opened up my notebook as the music buffered slowly -- jungle wi-fi can be a bit dodgy. The music came on, and the plucks of a banjo hit home. All of a sudden, I was holding my little cousin Zoey and dancing around my Mamaw's kitchen. Somebody had just come in from smoking a cigarrette, and Mamaw was pulling a muscedine cobbler out of the oven. Emily was making everyone a cup of coffee while Papaw flipped through the guide on television. It never seemed to leave breaking Fox News, football, or the Gaithers. Uncle Clyde was outside laying in the grass, head propped up on a gentle hand, smoking a filterless Camel. Either barefoot little kids would be falling over him, giggling, or he would be playing fetch with someone's dog. Three or four men were huddled around the open hood of a truck or the antlers of a winter buck. 

Traveling around the world, meeting new people, and experiencing different cultures. All of these things thrill me. I love the nomadic lifestyle that my backpack has opened me up to. I have loved all of my trips, and I'm constantly dreaming of future adventures. With that said, while I'm away the pull of home gets stronger every day. Familiar scents, tastes, or views make my heart actually ache a bit with longing for home. Talking to my family over the phone or Facetime help, but it was pretty rough around the holidays. It seemed like every time I talked to Mom she was with the family, all gathered together. I've watched Dale, my sister's dog, get bigger and bigger with each video call.