Home is Where the HEART Is

Home! Home is where the HEART is, of course that is what they always say. “Where is my heart and where is my home?” I think to myself. Through the years you move, you locate to where the jobs are, where you think the best schools are, where you can find yourself. Maybe you're moving to something or maybe you're moving away from something. Let me tell you about my home. I live in a small town in East Texas. Since my husband passed away and my grown children have move out on their own, I bought a house right next door to my sister. I live in the town I grew up in where I have many friends and many connections. I guess you would say that I have been home in many places.

I was brought home to a small upstairs apartment when my parents brought me from the hospital. And home again, when they brought my brother from the hospital in a different town in a different house. I was home when I started school at Fox elementary in a different house in a different town and state, and then again when I moved to a wonderful small company camp town in West TX. Home was with my grandparents and my mother after my parents divorced. It was simple however it was wonderful, magical. There were 15 people in my second-grade class, but we all felt like we were family. We all lived in a camp with 25 houses, and 25 families, that worked for Sun Pipeline. Everyone knew each other. We went to the same church, school, the same grocery store, and post office. It was a wonderful place to grow up and to me that was home. Home was also in Mississippi when I spent my summers with my Dad and family.

Fast forward and we moved to East Texas and there we had a home filled with lots of love, lots of action, kids coming and going, never a stranger in our home. My mother opened those doors to all who wanted to enter, and they became family. I remember people coming and staying for weeks at a time because they were down on their luck, or they had problems with their family. Friends who had issues with their parents and we would welcome them in with loving arms and give them a haven. There was never a Christmas that we didn't have someone staying with our family through the holiday. Another home was the house we lived in where I brought my newborn daughter and the same home where my son was born right there in his nursery.

Home! Home is where your heart is. That is what they say. It's where you grow up with the people you love the most, where you feel the most welcome. Home is that warm feeling deep in your soul that lets you know it’s where you’re supposed to be.

There is a place nearby that I now consider home. It is a place where my mother grew up, went to school, and started her life. It is a place where people moved to in order to survive. It is a place where the oil field became a new way of life, creating jobs, education, and a future. A future for people who would ordinarily work the rest of their lives in the cotton fields, cutting timber or farming.

Home is where the heart is! My heart is in a small community that was once a thriving town. There were indoor and outdoor theaters, grocery stores on every corner, churches, doctors’ offices, pharmacies, barber and beauty shops, restaurants and hotels. Just about anything that you could want, they had it all within a 10-mile radius. There was a small school that eventually grew to be known as the largest rural school in the world. There was a community of people. No matter how little or how much they had they were rich in family friends and fellowship.

After the oil fields diminished the people moved and the booming metropolis of Joinerville and Turnertown became a ghost town. Located on the outer edges of that once booming community, where the old school still stands majestic and glorious with its rock walls, massive property and beautiful old buildings is the HEART of my home. You see home is where your heart is and my heart is now home sharing the stories of the hundreds of people that walked through those hallowed halls. The men and women that worked in that oil field and became wealthy or famous or only normal. Home is where neighbors helped each other and cared for each other. It is where the school bus went to your house on a Wednesday night and picked up your entire family and took you back to the school for game night so that the people in the community had something to look forward to. It was a community that was centered around faith and love. You see from the early 30s until the 40s after World War II, this little community was home to my mother and her family. I now work as the Director of the Gaston Museum that pays tribute to the town, the oil, the school, and the families. That is where my heart is and that is home to me. I spend most of my time within the walls of our small museum, sharing the stories of all those who came before and after the Daisy Bradford oil strike. I love telling all about how Daisy Bradford owned the land and Dad Joyner and Doc Lloyd proceeded to drill oil. After the second try and no oil, Dad ordered the final attempt. In their effort to move again, the skidder broke down and Dad said drill, only to find the largest strike of oil in the entire state of Texas at that time. There were local people from the community helping to drill the oil and build the pipeline. Thousands moved in from all over the United States. Out of necessity came the school. I am at home telling the stories of my great Grandfather Avery as he placed a heart shaped rock in the wall in front of the old school while working to build it. And how he went door to door selling Watkins products. I swell with pride as I tell the story of my three uncles who all went to the same ship in the Navy. And I tell how my grandmother had to sign a waiver allowing the third one to join the other two because of the Sullivan Brothers Act. The story of one of them who brought home his best friend on leave only to end up gaining him as a Brother-in-Law and the future Daddy to me. I love proudly boasting that my Mother was a five-year cheerleader. Nothing makes my heart smile more than our family photos on the wall showing that they all belonged there. My heart is wrapped up in those walls. When I stroll through the halls of the museum exhibit building, I go from section to section sharing the history and the love of a small community. I show pictures of the businesses, too many to remember, churches in abundance, and the wonderful families that made up that great community. Talking about Boy Scouts and Rifle clubs, etiquette and the way young women were taught to be wives and mothers as well as career women brings me joy There is nothing greater than the stories and excitement as we tour through the museum. Watching them as they experience a hands-on shooting Gallery, play games from the olden days, learn to sew and how to cook.

The old snack shop from the 40s and 50s was a great attraction and their awe when taking the tours through that Snack Shop allowing them to sit on the old wooden pedestal stools at the old snack bar counter or to sit in booths where their ancestors set years before is priceless. I love watching them order a soda or ice cream and beg to hear more stories about the people of that time.

Home is that feeling I get when I go through the old school section and they can see what the kids had available at that time. They love the old chalk boards and all the trophies and accolades that were won for not only sports but for debate, journalism, academics. I share that some people went on to be famous referees in the National Football League or famous artist well known all over the world. How special it is to watch as they hear about Elvis Presley and how he performed on the stage at the old school in 1955. We turn on the old record player and listen to LP albums of Elvis singing Hound Dog or Blue Suede Shoes.

The Veterans Room rounds out the tour of the main building and the stories about the soldiers who went to war. All our tourists love hearing about the soldiers and the tributes to the ones who did not return. They love the uniforms, guns, planes and the collection of articles and equipment. My heart swells with pride as I share the memorial giving tribute to those great men and women who came from that small ten-mile radius.

What enthusiasm all our visitors have as we walk through the old original tent house that was built during the old boom. How fun it is learning to make butter by hand or to wash clothes outside with an old wash tub. They love to be able to cut down trees with the crosscuts saw or to mow the yard with a Rotary mower that had no power. To plant a garden only to watch it grow and prepare the food for the family along with all these activities make me feel like I'm at home with my Mom and Dad, with my grandparents and great grandparents.

All these things make me feel at home because that is where my HEART is. Home is that feeling deep in your spirit that lets you know comfort, joy, that you make a difference, and that you come from something important and special.

Home! Home is where the HEART is, of course that is what they always say. Where is my Home you ask? Wherever my heart is, that's always where I'm home. Where is yo