I’ve lived well over half of my life in Las Cruces, N. M. and I love it here. It’s home. But whenever I talk about going to Russellville, Ky., I don’t say I’m going back where I grew up. I say I’m going home.

If you have never lived anywhere else, it may be hard to understand. But I have found that I really look forward to coming “home,” and I need a yearly infusion of the kind of love that is uniquely Russellville’s.

My mother passed away in May 009, and my high school class was holding its 40^th reunion that October in conjunction with Tobacco Festival. My good friend Pat Pepper Boleware (“Pepper”) and her husband Larry were coming from their home in Scottsboro, Ala. to attend the festivities. I was staying with our childhood friend, Carolyn Wilson Mallory. As the three of us talked that weekend, Pepper and I realized that with our Russellville family gone, we might never have the incentive to return, except for the rare class reunion. Even though we were separated by distance, Pepper, Carolyn and I had maintained our friendship over the years.

So we made a vow. Pepper and I would come home every fall for Tobacco Festival and stay at Carolyn’s. The next year, we did exactly that. Last year we were joined by our friend Susan Neal Clapp, who didn’t want to miss out on the fun. The four of us reverted to our high school selves, crashing the reunion of the Class of ‘70, staying up late talking, and even borrowing one another’s clothes. Of course, now, instead of talking about cute boys, we find ourselves sharing stories of our children and grandchildren.

Russellville cooperates by dressing itself in glorious fall colors, something I sorely miss, living in the desert. In spite of our late nights, we are country girls at heart, and get up early in the morning to take walks in the crisp air of dawn. Shuffling through the fallen leaves, I am transported back to my childhood, walking to school from my home on Fifth and Breathitt in squeaky new school shoes that became dustier with every step. I remember the game I played with myself: trying to “walk the tightrope,” balancing on the curb up to Sixth Street without stepping off to keep my balance. Some days I made it all the way. Some days my new shoes distracted me and I lost my balance.

I find with each succeeding year, I appreciate the old friends of my childhood more and more. There is something very special about people who knew you when. When you were a kid. When they were kids. The ones who remember Duncan’s Drug Store and The Sweet Shoppe. The Dairy Delight and of course, Tastee Treet. Who know that “riding around” meant making the figure 8 circuit around the Square and out to Tastee and back, endlessly.

It’s being one of the Logan Countians who are in on the secret of the smoking barns, both for tobacco and country hams. This year, the first one we passed was in Adairville, near our friend Marion Fugate’s home. And it is coming at last to appreciate the rich history that is Russellville’s.

This year, we attended the Cemetery Tour, very capably presented by Darlene Gooch. If you’ve never done it, you are missing out. Even though I was born in Russellville, by all accounts I am still a newcomer. The really old families—the Clarks, the Rheas, the Bibbs—were here long before, and their stories still live--in the cemetery!

It’s ironic that when I was growing up, I often complained that there was nothing to do. Now when I return, I’m overwhelmed by all I want to do and how little time there is to do it. This year, we toured the Robey Dairy, watched workers stripping tobacco, visited the Red River Meeting House, attended the Cemetery Tour, had lunch with friends at Ariella, helped Carolyn set up the DAR booth downtown, watched the Jesse James shootout and the Tobacco Festival Parade, had a Tastee luncheon with friends, and crashed the 60^th birthday party of the Class of 1970. I loved every single minute.