The Harry Potter Alliance

By Amanda Bolton

November 29, 2008

The Journey, Part 5: Our little town

Finally, we made it back to our little town where we spent many years of our childhood. I was really looking forward to wandering around, seeing my old houses, my old school, the little playground where I fell off the slide that one time, the “big hill” I would ride ride my bike down. We came just in time for the yearly Hobo Festival, so we grabbed a spot to watch the parade. This spot was carefully chosen, as it took me outside the home of where my best friend lived when we were little. I figured it was a good place to start, and a few seconds after arriving, I heard a voice call out “Amanda?!” It was my childhood best friend!

Apparently her brother owns the home now (and he was there too), and she lives in a neighbouring town. It was so awesome! I got to watch the parade with an old friend, her new extended family, and her little girl. And afterwards, we were invited to join her family in a potluck dinner. It was wonderful getting to catch up, find out what’s been going on in town, and what happened to the other kids we grew up with. Iowa is often a swing state, and out of curiosity, I asked her about politics, as I hadn’t seen many lawn signs. I was pleased to hear that the people really did care, and they were looking carefully at the candidates to decide who would be best for them. Like many Americans, they were worried about their jobs, where their next paycheck would come from, how they could afford gas to fuel their farm or travel between the little towns. They were worried about the future, and looking forward to voting.

But too soon, we needed to wander on and see the rest of the town and the Hobo Festival. Much of it was just as we remembered; it was surprising how little had changed. My old brick elementary school was gone, but the little horse swings in the park I used to ride were still there. The “giant hill” I had to work up the courage to ride my bike down now seemed awfully tiny. I had a flood of memories. Of learning to ride my bike, of playing with friends, how great it was to grow up in a little community where everyone looked out for each other. And for me, the most amazing find, the old Pac Man video game was still in the pub! Oh I loved to pop in a quarter every now and then, while sipping my orange soda and marveling at the amazing technology of the day. (It was cutting edge back then.)

But one thing was very different. The Hobo Festival seemed quite different as an adult. It wasn’t just rides and a flea market. For instance, I never knew there was a special place in a park where the visiting hobos camped during the festival; I was never allowed to go there before. So this time, unlike my childhood, I got to see the hobos. Now hobos are not tramps, or criminals, or lazy, or anything else like that. A hobo is simply someone who travels, typically riding the rails, looking for work. There were young hobos, old hobos, even a Canadian hobo! They aren’t so common these days, but decades ago they were, and that’s how my little town earned the title “Hobo Capital of the World”. I wonder if in today’s tough economic times, it might become a bit more common again. And we certainly weren’t the only people in town who were interested; CBS had a film crew shooting a segment on the festival for their Sunday morning show. (It aired back in early October.) There was also a young freelance reporter from Europe interviewing some of the hobos. Being shy, I didn’t talk to anyone, unless my brother had already engaged them in conversation, but we heard some amazing stories. Some of them were veterans, some of them were adventurers, some of them liked the freedom, some of them had houses, families and jobs waiting for them and they were now only a part-time hobo. They were regular people who had a special spark that encouraged them to travel in an unconventional way.

And then, before we knew it, after my brother had a nice chat with an old friend of his, the sun was going down and it was time to head back to our hotel. It’s hard to believe we spent an entire day in our little old town that’s only 2 miles wide, but we both loved every minute. We really felt connected to the people of our childhood, that old way of life. Things weren’t rushed. While there were hard times out there, that day everyone had their friends and family, and that was what mattered the most. People were friendly and welcoming and accepting of each other’s differences. It renewed my optimism for family, for friendship, for community. It reminded me of the things that made my childhood truly special and wonderful, that helped me grow to be who I am today. We could roam the streets playing without being constantly watched by our parents. We learned independence and responsibility. We learned cooperation and friendship. We weren’t allowed to watch much TV (and home video games were rare), but instead were told to stay outside and play until dinner time. We developed quite the imaginations. It was a great place to grow up, and it made me happy that kids can still be kids there.

It made me think of Ottery St Catchpole, and the Weasley’s childhood. Except for the lack of neighbours, I bet Ron and his siblings had much the same adventure as us. But too many kids today have childhoods like Dudley’s; they don’t get to go out and do anything, never use their imagination, never learn how to entertain themselves, never learn responsibility. I’m glad I got to be like Ron. Now if only I had someone like Luna as a friend growing up; oh wait, that was me.

So that was my adventure. I encourage you to think about your own life and your own adventures, whether they take you far away or close to home. Share them in the forum if you like! But most of all, see how we are all connected. See what Dumbledore spoke of, what Harry fought for, and what we in the HPA care about so deeply. Do what you can to help your community, and our global community. Every action, small or large, will make a difference. So thank you for reading, and I look forward to hearing from you!