A return to simple...

I used to spend my summer vacations in a small town. So small that it wasn't on a map and the largest building in the community was a red, one- room schoolhouse. The farm hand taught me to ride horses and I would play in the barn, climbing the stacks of hay along with the mice. My grandmother grew rhubarb and told us not to eat the leaves. She made butterscotch pudding for dessert. My grandpa would take his boots off at the door and hang his Stetson on a horseshoe shaped hook. Summers were easy there. We played card games in the evening and I would fall asleep on the pull out couch.

I am back. Different town but same culture. Neighbors I just met bringing fresh vegetables from their gardens. Strangers waving at me as I drive into town simply because "that's what farmers do". I still can't believe I am here. Glaring differences between people here and everywhere else.Awkward at times because I have become a guarded city girl in a sense. Often my responses seem strange and disconnected. Almost like I have to explain, "yes I am from here", tempered with "But a long time ago".

Despite the awkwardness, things are familiar here. Comfortable. Simple.

Soon enough, it will get substantially better. Soon I will call it Home. Counting days Love.