I live in the great state of Texas, but was raised in the equally great state of California. I’ve been in Texas long enough to recognize the last part of that sentence as a form of sacrilege, and fully expect to catch hell for it at the next family reunion, but it’s true.
I recently traveled back to California. I picked up my rental car in Sacramento and noticed the mountains to the north. Distance made them a blue haze on the horizon.
I pointed to the mountains and told the kids, “That’s where we’re going.”
When I was growing up, I barely noticed the mountains. Anyone can grow blind to something they see every day. Even if that something is a beauty so severe it makes your heart ache.
I drove along winding roads and gazed up at peaks so high they seemed to close in the sky. I hiked through the California redwoods and understood how the word ‘tree-hugger’ was born.
I spent time with family I haven’t seen in years, and friends so close to my heart they might as well be family.
Then on the plane back I heard a couple of y’all’s and fixin’ to’s and felt like I was already home. I love those mountains, but I also love the big open skies of Texas. I think the kids were happy to be home, too.
Do you live in place other than where you were raised? Tell me about it. I love comments.