Note: Home is found in hindsight and appreciation
I grew up off a curvy road that took you beyond the hill tops and tree lines, a place you didn’t know held homes. Ohio saw four seasons but more often than not you felt all four in one day.
In the moment it was boring, in hindsight it was magical. We didn’t have a sense of town or city pride because we were farm land and a 20 minute drive to the nearest grocery store. Population? Maybe 200. Malls were a vacation to me. Window shopping or real shopping, I’d be thrilled to be surrounded by so many options. We didn’t have money for malls so this was a rare occurrence. You had to have a need, like getting an ink-cartridge refill that happened to be $10 cheaper inside the mall than in the super center Walmart that was thirty minutes closer. Maybe it was just my family, but anything that required us all to get in the car to go to any location meant we had to make the most of our gas tank and mileage.
Before I lived in a home surrounded by acres of land and dead end roads, I briefly lived in a “big city” that I recall only taking me a short car ride to get to grandma’s house. In between here and there, I’d spend some extended summers or winters at said grandma’s house, because she was no longer a short car ride away. I lived wherever was convenient before having a sense of home.
After a little bit of here and there, I found myself moving from town to town as an adult, chasing that feeling of I'm home.
Basically, I did not know what it meant to have a “hometown” or a simple “where are you from?” answer. Because depending on how much you wanted to know, the answer would vary. Between 2016 and 2020 I moved 6 times.
Now, I've settled down in a lovely small city called Wheeling, which sits not too far into one of the least populated states, West Virginia.
My street is often a snow globe come winter; deep in the valley and surrounded by frosted trees that the moon kindly illuminates. You don't need streetlights to find your way home.
To me, this city has it all. An arts center, a theater for Broadway productions, multiple coffee shops and brunch spots that aren’t chain restaurants. Beautiful architecture, talented artists, and much more I continue to uncover.
"This place isn’t what it used to to be. There is nothing to do here."
- A friend who has lived here their whole life.
These opinions, usually thrown out while conversing about what to do this weekend, kind of blow my mind. In the 7 cities I've lived in my adult life, I've heard this everywhere, no matter it's size.
To me, there are tons of things to do here. I proudly appreciate that I no longer live where I have to bribe a pizza man to meet me half way between my house and the shop. I can walk to some spots, and drive fairly quickly to others. Most folks are kind, and the efforts to preserve the history is inspiring.
People decorate their homes with care, walk their dogs and stroll their babies, community events, live music, it all makes me feel welcomed. Home use to be a place to sleep, now it's a place I proudly live.
It's a valid complaint, I myself am familiar with being tired of the same thing. Frankly, I envy my friend's ability to critique their city so confidently. Maybe I’m just annoyingly optimistic, but I see the efforts that bring a city to life. I find the hidden gems and I make the most of it. I spent years in small towns where the population was mostly made up of the same families or in big cities that suffocated me.
I'm no stranger to complaining about home.
I complained about the boring land I grew up surrounded by. I complained how sheltered we were. I complained I didn't have a non-gravel road to ride my bike on.
I swore I'd never live in the country again, assuming anywhere but here was better.
Yet when it came time to choose a wedding venue, I chose the one with the trees in the backdrop that watched me grow up. When it came time to choose a home, I chose the one with the best view of the sky.
Sure, I didn't choose the biggest or most entertaining city to plant roots in. I also didn't choose the city that suffocated me. I chose a cozy place that offered more than the last, but not too much, and just enough hills and trees to make me feel at home.
When life gets heavy I find myself day dreaming in a way that this poem articulates better than I ever could:
So tell me, do you have anything you appreciate about your hometown? Do you have a new perspective or appreciation for it after leaving and then maybe coming back? Are you like me and chose a place that satisfied your cravings for home? Let me know below.
- Elizabeth Russell -