I have found that as I get older I have been thinking more. Sometimes this is productive and other times it leads me on a walk down memory lane that accomplishes nothing. I have found myself thinking lately about how I miss my home state and my little corner of that state in particular. The east coast is a perfectly lovely place but even after living here for seven years I still feel like I have been dropped on the surface of an alien planet. The pace of life is much faster, I still hardly know my neighbors, and at times I feel totally alone even in a bustling city. But I think I really miss the beautiful blue 180 degrees of sky above my head the most. Now when I look up all I see is concrete and steel looming overhead through a haze of smog. After being a rat for a while I find myself getting rather sick of the race.

Without going all Garrison Keillor on all of you, there is just something about small town America that is unlike anything else. There is this comforting sameness about life there that cannot be found in a city. While there are changes over time, it all just feels like what has happened before will happen again eventually. For example, my little hometown (referred to sometimes as BFE, NE by the locals) has changed a bit in the decade since I last lived there. There are new people in town, a few more businesses, and the railroad no longer winds through town (which means that I can no longer tease my friend about living on the wrong side of the tracks, oh well). But the things that really make the place unique haven't changed much at all. You can still get freshly baked cookies in exchange for gossip at the post office on Tuesday, Mr. Sullivan still cuts his grass religiously (even if it does not need it), the crazy ex-hippies still live in the bright blue house with the yellow trim and 10,000 wind chimes on the front porch, and the farmers still gather in the local tavern every morning for coffee and the minimalistic conversation indicative of their breed.

I miss living in a place where the normal rhythm of life is relaxed and unhurried. Where everyone knows you, your entire family (including your third cousin once removed), what car you drive and even the color of your sofa. It can be a bit cloying, but in the end it feels more like a strange little family. They exasperate you at times with their nosiness, but when something bad happens they have your back. And that is really what I miss most of all. My strange little extended family full of obsessed grass-cutting old men and ex-hippies with appallingly bad taste.

Learn more about this author, Erin Sheffield.
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