The Welsh call it mynd adref: going home. Odysseus spent his entire life just trying to go home. It took Moses over 40 years, and then it didn’t really end that well for him. E.T. had to play dead and evade the government just to go home. And Princess Leia can never go home, it was vaporized by the Death Star. But for me it took four years. And 3,000 miles.
Way back in 2015, I was working as a baker and pizza chef at Lake Theater Café, just outside Portland, Oregon. I had just graduated from Portland State and was trying to figure out my next move. I started talking to a waitress I had a crush on. A few shifts later, she said yes when I asked her out to see Transformers 2, even though neither of us had seen the first, or cared to. We drove to the beach instead, shared a bowl of clam chowder, and fell in love. Soon, we decided to leave the Northwest and give the Southeast a try. It was a different time; gas was cheap, our car was four years newer than it is now, and anything seemed possible. We packed our clothes, half my record collection, a few books and our dog, then dipped south and headed east.
We had coffee in San Francisco and commented on how the hilly streets and boulevards gave the city a character that is lost in modern cities. We had Mexican food in Los Angeles and vowed always to keep tacos in our lives. A steak from a Route 66 roadhouse in Arizona was only made better when we were able to walk to the restaurant from our motel. In Texas, there is What-a-Burger. And so, we had What-a-Burger, because when you grow up in Texas, that’s just what you do. Arkansas taught us to book ahead, but also not to judge. Because when the only hotel in town with a vacancy is also hosting a national convention for a famous motorcycle club, you have a decision to make. But in the end, hundreds of Harley-riding men and women clad in leather and tattoos all settled down by about eleven o’clock, and we all slept quite soundly that night. And then there was Asheville. Now there’s a place that has an energy. It’s that feeling you get in between seeing the lightning bolt and hearing the boom. Maybe it’s the wake of folks looking towards their dreams and jumping with both feet. Maybe it’s the mountain air. Maybe it was the craft brew. The tail end of our adventure was our new house just outside Charleston.
But there was a catch: the house wasn’t ready. Fortunately for us, my parents live in Aiken. So, we stayed in Aiken. We stayed in my parents’ spare room for two weeks: my wife, me, and the dog. It was the longest two weeks of my life. It was cramped. It was uncomfortable. It was wonderful. It was a different time.
Four quick years raced by in a flash of hurricanes, holidays, flu shots, and that time it snowed a little bit. I realized, and my wife was quick to agree, I wasn’t getting any younger. It was time to start our family. We both wanted to find a place that was a mix of our childhoods. For her, it was summers at Lake Cushman in Washington State or learning to sail on the Oregon coast. For me it was Pennsylvania farm shows in the fall and Texas chili cook-offs.
We also agreed that what we loved most about South Carolina was the time we were able to spend with our family in Aiken. It was only a two-hour drive from Dorchester County. But after four years, two hours felt like four days. The stretch from Orangeburg to Springfield never ends when you’re stuck behind a horse trailer. But when we finally made it to Aiken, to my parents’ house, it was all worth it. And when we left, I’d get that feeling you get when you’re leaving home.
My wife and I agreed we’d love to move to Aiken. But there was a catch: we were both full-time employees of the public school system. It reminds me of an anonymous Internet quote: “When I was a kid, I lived paycheck to paycheck. Now that I’m an adult, I live direct deposit to direct deposit.” So, I did what every other millennial who signed for loans they didn’t understand did, I asked my folks for help. And fortunately for us, they could, and did.
The U-Haul was loaded, and we were on our way to our new house in Aiken. But then, there was a catch. Again. The house wasn’t ready. Again. This time, something about an out-of-state bank. Go figure.
So, for our first night back in Aiken, we stayed in my parents’ sunroom: my wife, me, the dog, two cats, four walls of windows, and an air mattress. It was cramped. It was eerily familiar. In the middle of the second night, a cat popped the air mattress. It was a blessing. It was a different time. It was three weeks ago.
But it gave us a chance to explore Aiken with new eyes.
I lost a staring contest with a crane, whom I named Frasier, at Hopeland Gardens. There’s a park in the middle of this city! Most towns don’t even have sidewalks, let alone a park with waterfalls and rolling hills and turtle ponds.
We walked into a free lunch Downtown at What’s Cookin’. Before we could even see the menu, an official looking man offered to buy us our meal, compliments of the folks at TD North. We accepted his offer. The only thing better than a great lunch is a free great lunch.
We walked from Flanagan’s to Cyndi’s Sweet Shoppe, from Aiken Brew Pub to The Pizza Joint. We talked to friendly people. Strangers said hello. Folks were out, having a good time. It’s the little things that you didn’t think you’d miss until you lived in a place where those things don’t happen.
That’s why we’ve come home. We weren’t born here. But Aiken is our home now. Our family is from Aiken. And I just got my change of address forms, so technically, so am I. And my wife. And the dog. Oh yeah, and the cats. They just showed up and never left. That was three years ago.
Last night I was leaving the Food Lion on Richland, and I didn’t need to use the GPS to find my way home. We only moved into our new house three days ago and already I can make it home without satellite assistance. It felt like the end of Star Wars: A New Hope, when Luke refuses to use the computer in his X-wing and instead relies on The Force as his guide to blow up the Death Star. The universe was my co-pilot. It felt familiar. It felt good. It felt like mynd adref.
By Matthew Wynn
Matthew Wynn was born in Pennsylvania, grew up in Texas and attended college in Maine and Oregon. He has been an after-school director, a baker, a cook, and a tour-manager for his best friend’s punk rock band. The son of Alan Maclay (a proprietor of Cold Creek Nursery) and Phyllis Maclay (a noted Bella author), he is the oldest and most charming of his five siblings. Matthew is an awesome husband and is super modest. He enjoys the ironic, most things sarcastic, and at times, the sardonic. He is also a dog-person. Aiken photos by AP Gouge Photography.
