An Ode to Home

The first thing I notice each time I return to the small town where I was raised is the sweet smell of millions of kernels of young corn. On hot fall afternoons, the air is heavy with dank, damp earthy tones. To my surprise, I miss it every time I return to New England.

The days are slow in the southernmost tip of Indiana. Nowhere to go, nothing to do, and everyone to smile and wave to as you get your gas. At one of two grocery stores you’ll push carts that are easily as old as you are, and as you chug along with your rusted wheels you’ll find yourself relieved to stop and read the labels of your three choices for bread. No one will be waiting behind you, irritated that you’re lazily meandering. On the contrary, the elderly may even encourage you to engage in a bit of lolly-gagging, with the weather being so nice out and all.

People will say ‘excuse me’ or ‘pardon’ when passing you in the aisle as you decide between Gushers or Fruit Roll Ups for the kids. Don’t forget that every time you leave the house you’ll see somebody you know that you’ll have a short chat with about the goings-on at the courthouse. Will the clerk ever marry the warden she’s dating? Who knows! Be sure to check in again next week with Elsie at IGA. She’s always there on Saturday mornings to pickup cigarettes for her disabled husband Elroy, anyway. Lord knows she could use the company.

Checking out, the cashier will greet you with a smile and a cheery hello, followed by small talk about the weather, or whatever. Sometimes, those conversations will annoy you, as you despise small talk, but when you go away to a place where no one says a word you’ll miss feeling acknowledged as a human.

The roads in many places could hardly be called such, being composed of gravel and dirt. Pavement is a luxury reserved for town. Potholes seem to be the currency of the county. Four wheelers just may be your ticket to freedom.

McDonalds, Subway, Arby’s, and Dairy Queen are the main players on the fast food team. I hear they’ve also recently added a fancy Taco Bell to the roster. Only two family restaurants remain in the turbulence of a post-covid world, but one, a barbecue restaurant, reigns king. Many say the only thing to do in town is eat, and many days you’ll find that I won’t disagree.

As a child, many of my friends hated it here, where the crops grow, the crows roost, and the breeze sweeps through the tassels of corn. The heartland of America, the breadbasket of the world. Where most of the land and resources are consumed with growing, plowing, selling, then sowing on repeat. A place where nothing ever happens.

A place where everything is done with ease; the country. The days are long and full of little details, details most often overlooked. The evenings are brimming with the sound of cicadas, as hues of pink and orange sunlight flood the sky. Of course, no one could forget the dullness in the lack of nightlife; instead, settling for a blanket of millions of bright glittering stars littering the darkness. On the luckiest of crisp fall nights, one could lay in the back of a pickup truck and fall asleep under the pale moonlight only to awake just before dawn to joyful birdsong.

A feeling of ache fills my heart, and then my bones stepping into that blazing sunlight. For I must leave again, back to our new home. Don’t get me wrong, New England is a treasure. So much is available to me and my family here that I could never dream of experiencing in Indiana. However, I find myself more often than not in the times I feel troubled and alone, envisioning that Mason-Dixon masterpiece best known as the skyline.

For many years I coveted something new, something shiny to call my own. Opportunities felt slim in this part of the world, and the people felt small, so one-dimensional. Yet over time, I realized they were truly the salt of the earth. As a young person all I ever wanted was to be anywhere else. In search of freedom, joy, and a life of ease. Silly me, here I had it all along - at my Indiana home.