A Great Depression and The Dust Bowl

My parents were both raised during the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression, so hard times were not just stories in their family — they were part of the weather they inherited. They lived inside the habits, the caution, the scrimping on things, the quiet respect for work, and the understanding that nothing on earth is promised to last, but build it like it will anyhow.

In my twenties, I found my grandfather’s deserted farm out by Cress Texas, an abandoned old farm, as I stood their recounting childhood memories, I felt a truth that they all experienced, desolation. There were still a few artifacts here and there, old things Pops and Grandma had touched, used, carried, mended, or worked hard to maintain. There were empty fields where they all had once worked, at first behind a mule and later with an antique tractor, turning soil that was supposed to feed a family and build a future–one that never came mind you. By the time I was standing there the value had vanished from sight. The labor was gone. The crops were gone. The man and his family were gone. The farm had become a sort of an very poorly curated museum, one with no visitors.

What struck me hardest was how little was left of my grandparents entire life’s work. One can pour their strength into the ground for a lifetime, and eventually the buildings sag, the tools rust, the fields go to dust, and the wind moves in like it owns the place. What remains is a vague and distant memory, some nostalgia, and a strange ache of standing in the midst of all this desolation, a place where they put their hopes and dreams.

This song came from that feeling. It’s not just about an old couple’s abandoned farm or the homestead where my mother grew up. It is about the way time shatters the glass around our memories. It is about the ghosts that linger in places people once loved, worked, failed, prayed, and endured. But maybe it’s about all of us, still walking through the fields of what will soon be a “used to be”, all the while, looking for a place called home.

A Place Called Home
I walked through the fields where the cotton grew
But the soil turned dry and the wind just blew
The ghosts round here they swing from the trees
Tellin’ stories in the night no one believes
But the sun keeps shining and the shadows stay
Every little step feels further away

There’s a crack in time where the silence roams
‘Cause we’re all just looking for a place called home
Yes we’re all just looking for a place
A place called home

A familiar face in broken glass
Reflections crumble as the years go past
There’s a heart in the rubble beating faint and slow
But the rhythm in the rows will never show
Oh the sun keeps shining and it’s raining sand
Every broken dream won’t let me in

There’s a crack in time where the silence roams
‘Cause we’re all just looking for a place called home
Yes we’re all just looking for a place
A place called home

All the roads we travel and the storms we face
Weight of the world we can’t erase
When the darkness comes and hope takes flight
Light up a candle and push through the night

There’s a crack in time where the silence roams
‘Cause we’re all just looking for a place called home
Yes we’re all just looking for a place
Looking for a place
A place called home