IBERNIA

     There are so many places on our planet that take our breath away. Many inspire us and even lift us to a higher place. Be that as it may, there is no place that could ever touch Ibernia, at least in the mind of Melvin Watson. Melvin created, I mean discovered, Ibernia when he was about six years old. He grew up in the dusty little town of Cottsville, a village with one hand clinging for dear life and the other digging its grave. Even as a child, Melvin knew his would be the last generation to call Cottsville home. His parents, though not very imaginative, did have the sense to place lots of picture books in the house for the children to leaf through. Through these books, they could see that there was a world outside Cottsville. Unfortunately, Melvin’s parents were barely able to eke out a living and stay in one place. Melvin, especially, was drawn to these books and would spend hours looking at the pictures of faraway lands. By Cottsville standards, he had a normal childhood. He was outgoing and friendly. He never met a stranger.

     Every day, he spent a little time pouring over the picture books, and on one of those days, a vision of a place came into his head. It was vague and almost dreamlike. Gradually, the images became clearer to him, and more appealing. As he began school and learned to read, he found that the images gained new details. He finally realized that the images he saw were of a place that combined aspects of two of his favorite places, Ireland (Hibernia) and Spain (Iberia). He decided to name this place Ibernia.

     Especially on hot summer days, he would sit in the rope swing that hung from a large tree in his front yard and explore Ibernia in his mind. He loved the richness of landscape that reminded him of Ireland, along with the many exotic qualities he found that evoked the pictures of Spain he had seen.

     His explorations of Ibernia continued through high school, and even into college. He was the only child in Cottsville who ever went to college. Sometimes, he attempted to write down his impressions of Ibernia, but he could never find the words. He never told anyone about the place.

     After college, Melvin settled down in a thriving community not far from Cottsville. He got married and had children. He found that the responsibilities of being a husband, father, breadwinner, and citizen pushed his mental travels to Ibernia into the background. Finally, all images and memories of Ibernia were erased from his mind.

     When he retired and his children had all left home, he hoped the images of Ibernia would return, but they didn’t. He tried and tried to remember what Ibernia looked like, but to no avail. He even grabbed the books from his childhood and leafed through them once again, hoping that some picture would ignite his memory. Nothing happened.

     He decided to go back to Cottsville. By now, the grave digging hand had won out in the battle for the future of the village. His parents had passed away, and the little house he grew up in had fallen in on itself with vines and weeds poking out everywhere. The swing had long ago rotted away. The tree, however, was still there. So strong was Melvin’s desire to rediscover Ibernia that he actually rebuilt the swing and sat in it for the longest time. All he now saw was dust, weeds, and remnants of a life long passed. Disappointed, he gave up on his quest.

     One weekend, he and his wife were visiting one of their children. This particular son and his family had moved to one of those cookie-cutter housing “developments” that grow across the landscape surrounding most urban area. Though the houses were neat and tidy, to Melvin the area was as soulless as Cottsville had been. He looked out the back window from the kitchen and saw his grandson sitting on one of the swings of the canopied swing set his father had put up in the treeless back yard. The boy wasn’t swinging – perhaps just gently. He seemed lost in thought. Melvin’s first inclination was to go outside and offer his grandson a penny for his thoughts. He then realized that these days, a dollar for one’s thoughts my produce better results. Then Melvin stopped. He thought back on the times he sat on that rope swing back in Cottsville. He realized that his grandson was escaping the environment by discovering a better place, a place of wonder and greatness. That place wouldn’t be Ibernia; it had to be his grandson’s place.

     Then, a smile that was as deep as it was broad came over Melvin’s face. Had he discovered the meaning of life? Perhaps so.