Last Friday night, my husband and I packed the kids and assorted paraphernalia into the car to head east, young family, for my family reunion. For once, we were traveling to the east coast to visit my family, instead of heading up north to see his. (Prior to our Washington Trip in March, I had not left the Midwest since 2006. That, my friends, is a very long time to not see hills or proper trees.)
I spent the first ten years of my life in Upstate New York. Although I don't think about it often, I remember the fog, the hills and the trees- giant, mature trees that do not need stakes or wire to hold them up. I remember the view being interrupted by landforms... not... flatness.
(Is "flatness" a word? And did you know that my state has been scientifically proven to be flatter than a pancake?)
I don't think about the East Coast much. I mean, it's there, obviously, but for so many years it has been simply the place where I started life or the place where my extended family lives. I am so busy here that I don't stop and think about it often. Every once in a while, footage will roll across the TV and I will be struck by those green hills and mature trees and think, "I miss that!" And then life goes on.