Walking to class almost every weekday cannot be counted as an experience in nature. I don't think driving with the windows down counts as an experience either. Sadly, I don't have a large pool of nature encounters to select from. I am a fan of controlled environments which could be a large factor in why my pool is so shallow. Nature scares me, and I try to avoid it whenever I can. It is scary for many reasons, but the main reason is that I do not know much about it. I can only remember one encounter where I dealt with nature face-to-face, and I was ill-prepared and did not appreciate any second of it.
I spent nearly every summer night calling or texting every friend in my address book, searching for the lucky friend whose parents had left for the weekend. The lucky fellow this weekend was Andy. Andy has had millions of blowouts over the years and this was expected to be another thriller. Andy came through once again and had a bash that was enjoyed by hundreds of our friends. The party was literally shaking the house, and it even extended into the back porch. It was one of those parties where everybody was so happy that they were not the person hosting it because we all knew exactly what the house would look like afterward. But the party was not all smiles and cheers.
I am assuming that eastern Ohio is like most places in that after a few kegs are tapped, somebody feels the need to start a fight. And sometime between 2 and 5 am, somebody broke one of Andy's Mom's bottles of wine. This wine collection was in the basement, and everybody knew it was off limits. The wine probably did not cost more than $50 for the whole bottle, but because it was not in a box we all just assumed it was something that came from France and was at least 100 years old. It also did not help that the bottle had been smashed into fragments by hitting the top of Andy's head. Andy then felt it was necessary to kick everybody out of his house, or try to at least.
Andy began shouting and screaming that he was going to call the cops (like that would ever happen). Bottles were being thrown and people were getting far more stirred up than a few hours before. The cops came (Andy made the call) and everybody scrambled to get out of there. I can not remember exactly why I wanted to run into the woods, but I felt a burning desire to sprint off of Andy's back porch and thrust myself into the wilderness. It may have been to save myself from the long arm of the law, or it could have been that I had drank too much. Either way I was scared, confused, and excited.
This was the roughest forestry I had ever experienced in my life. I am not saying it resembled Northern Canada, but it appeared dense to my squinted eyes. I could not see anything, and I had no idea what berries were good for me, how to make a fire, or anything else Bear Grylls or Steve Erwin would be able to do. I was not prepared. I did not have any of the special gear that nature dwellers are constantly wearing on the Discovery Channel. Every story I have ever heard about survival in the woodlands dealt with at least one character having something that went wrong. I had nothing to go wrong with; no matches that got wet, I did not lose a compass, and I certainly did not let a tent blow away in the wind. I was alone in what might as well have been the Amazon, and it was starting to get cold. Any type of supplies would have allowed me to fare well in the harsh backwoods of Cadiz, Ohio, but I just did not have any.
In the very few seconds after darting off of Andy's property, I faintly remember tripping and landing by a large tree. This tree shocked me when I stared into its base that seemed massive in the moonlight. I could not do anything but clench this tree and never let go until I felt safe enough to open my eyes again. Nobody wants to be crawling on the floor of the forest without so much as a sleeping bag, but I had the tree and that was as safe as I was going to get. The thought of navigating through the ridiculous terrain had crossed my mind, but that light bulb was short-lit and I wound up wrapping myself around the timber.
The fury of nature's night was something I had never dealt with before, and I am proud to have come out alive. The sounds throughout the night were excruciating; I heard hoots and howls that sent chills down my spine. Every rustle of the leaves was surely a large black bear coming to steal my tree and eat me alive. As if the sounds were not enough, I had to deal with the bugs crawling all over me. It felt as though giant ants or spiders were slipping into my clothes and through my hair, and I was helpless. My mom once told me about a report that stated: the average human eats 7 spiders in his/her lifetime. I think I hit my quota that night. As stated earlier: I wasn't prepared. I didn't even have bug spray. I'm not sure how it happened with all of nature's forces against me, but I fought through the noise and the insects and finally fell asleep.
Being woken up by a sunrise is something that everybody should experience at least once. The few minutes it took for me to fully wake up were beautiful. The warmth of the sun seemed to heal me of everything I had been through the night before. I finally had some heat and some light. The sun shined over me and all the surroundings that inhibited me just hours ago. As my pupils focused themselves, I was shocked at everything the glorious sun decided to show me. Once I got to my feet I realized that I was still in Andy's back yard. I, apparently, had tripped over some shrubs towards the end of Andy's property, and landed by a small tree. I spent the night not in the woods, but instead, surrounded by grass and landscaping in somebody's backyard. The night in the woods left me with nothing but scrapes from the shrubbery and a promise to never drink again.
I was thrown into nature, and into a situation that did not enable me to appreciate it. My lack of being prepared was the downfall and caused me to walk away from my incident without a positive outlook on nature. I know nature has beauty, and I've seen it on TV and read about it in books, but because I was not prepared, I could not learn of it for myself.
What is the best thing about nature at night?
America has been fighting a war for hundreds of years. This war, no matter how many reinforcements, is never over. The casualty count is unknown, and the spread of this war has hit every inch of this great land. No, this is not the war on terror, the war on zombies, or even the war against fast food chains never using the first drive through window. This war is on hunger. There is no figurehead on this Earth who is equipped to fight this battle more so than “The Colonel.” Colonel Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken has been elected by the original-recipe-craving-population of America to lead the charge against hunger. The reason the Colonel is able to fight this war is by his never ending arsenal of fried (and now grilled) deliciousness. Colonel Sanders is backed by Kentucky Fried Chicken. The Colonel and KFC are now inseparable because as the KFC's pop up in every area from Compton to Brooklyn, the soul of the Colonel pops up right with it.
The first time anyone has ever walked through the grease-stained doors of a Kentucky Fried Chicken he or she is greeted by the red and white colors of Colonel Sanders. The first time anyone orders a piece of chicken they are asked, “Original recipe or crispy?” The colonel's faithful rarely allow for the employee to finish the first syllable of his or her interrogative. The customer's brain is rushed with thoughts of Colonel Sanders dressed in white, with his crisp black tie and hands wrapped around a bucket of his perfected chicken. That image has fueled millions of American's to ask for an extra piece not only at the counter, but even in the drive thru causing countless checks under the seat for the loose change required to purchase the surprise piece that was added at the last second. These extra pieces are acquired so often because of the widespread power the Colonel has over the public. Whether it's one piece of Chicken or an order of Mac-n-Cheese, the presence of the Colonel in the mind of a consumer ordering inside or outside a KFC will force one more piece to be printed on the receipt. Each of those extra pieces are votes, all of which will be tallied to support KFC and the Colonel in the fight against hunger.
The Colonel and KFC are fighting the war on hunger on every front possible, and they couldn't achieve this goal if they weren't fighting together. The paired duo of KFC and it's leader has locations in Washington, PA; Washington, DC; Seattle, Washington; and countless places elsewhere. These places keep expanding their range because America has an unrelenting faith in the Colonel. We as American's understand that the Colonel will pull us through our hunger trials and allow us to come out on top and full of high-calorie soul food. We also understand that as long as the KFC is associated with Sanders our hunger will be defeated. The attachment of Sanders and KFC is key because they each help the public believe in each other. We believe in KFC because of Sanders and we believe in Sanders because of KFC. When we sit down and wait patiently for our 3 digit order number to be called by the only person between the public and the chicken, we know that as every second passes the Colonel is taking care of us. The Colonel makes sure you leave his establishment with a happy stomach filled with chicken, and a heart flowing with cholesterol.
The Colonel's reach doesn't stop at KFC, and even so, the pairing of KFC and the Colonel is unmatched. When the consumer leaves those doors of a KFC and is thrust back into the world of capitalism, the consumer is faced with even more food decisions. To make sure that the consumer always picks KFC and the Colonel, they have formed alliances with Taco Bell, Long John Silvers, and even Pizza Hut. These establishments do not have a figurehead like Colonel Sanders, and that is the reason they must join forces with KFC. The Taco Bell Chihuahua has long been sent to back to the land of Border Sauces with no witty anecdotes. Long John has been forced to walk the plank. And Pizza Hut Pete has expired before anyone knew he existed. The fact that the binding of Colonel/KFC still stands strong through the coalition of new partners just solidifies how substantial it really is.
To understand KFC and the bond between its leader, one must first understand the Colonel. Colonel Sanders illustrates every one of his most productive traits through Kentucky Fried Chicken. His strength is showcased through the handle KFC has over the fried chicken market. His knowledge is revealed by the enticing and massive menu that is displayed behind lights at each and every KFC. His passion is shown in the taste of KFC's chicken. Each bite that is crunched, every layer that is digested, and all the crumbs that are scooped from an empty bucket are evidence that the Colonel cared exponentially about his chicken. Without that level of caring, the American public would not have faith in KFC. Thankfully, Colonel Sanders and KFC are forever grouped as one.
The Colonel has enlisted millions of KFC's to fight in the war on hunger. Thankfully, they are all doing a successful job, and their success can be attributed to the connection those restaurants have with the Colonel. This attachment has caused a craving of the masses for the glorious entity that is original recipe chicken from KFC. Americans know who they can turn to, and even more importantly Americans know exactly how to get to him. The public trusts in the Colonel and therefore trusts in KFC in the battle against empty stomachs. And by the guidance of the Colonel we will all fight. We will all fight for a piece.
What's the best partner of Kentucky Fried Chicken?
I remember being woken up by my dad around noon with a cup of hot chocolate in his hand and a smile on his face. This could only mean one thing: Snow day. The television was playing what the local news called the “Snowbird Report”. At a young age, the scrolling schools at the bottom of the screen helped me learn my alphabet. I always new that after “Frontier Local” my school would follow: “Harrison Hopedale Elementary”(There were no Gs). I valued these days because I could hang out with my dad who would stay home from work, or I could go outside and play with my friends who were just as excited as I was to be free for the day. I hope that future generations can benefit from snow days forever, and enjoy them just as much as I did. An opponent to the phenomenon of snow days is global warming. It may not seem like it now, but eventually global warming will be the end of snow days, and nobody will be able to play in the snow, just like I did on a cold snow day when I was in fifth grade.
It was a typical snow day where I woke up late and watched ESPN with my dad for a few hours before getting all of my friends and ideas together for what the rest of the day would bring. Eventually I received a phone call from my buddy Ryan asking me if I wanted to sled ride at the park. I told him yes, of course, and then called every friend within walking distance. As I talked on the phone in the kitchen, my dad overheard our plans to sled ride and, being the engineer that he is, began brainstorming on how to make this snow day unlike any other.
My dad already had a notepad out before I could hang up the phone. He drew diagrams with our four-wheeler pulling a rope that would be attached to the lid of our turtle-shaped sandbox. He included smiling faces of my friends and I, and even mapped the trail the four-wheeler would take while pulling everyone. He had the landscape fully mapped out, and then he called up each of my friend's parents to make sure his idea was alright in their eyes. The diagram was left at home, but the layout and every single idea he wrote down was still inside his head, which he certainly took to the park.
The park was an old football field that had been stripped of the bleachers and goal posts, bur it still contained a lot of useful land. We would use every inch of it. Essentially, our town park was just a giant plot of flat land with a hill on one side and trees on the other. This field was perfect for an afternoon of sled riding. The designated driver for the day (my Dad) took full advantage of every twist and turn while hearing us scream behind him. He had trails that would go up the side of the hill and take advantage of the entire park. Even the forestry was taken advantage of by the four-wheeler with the turtle shell behind it.
The whole community showed up at the park that day, and it was a wonderful thing to see. When the parents arrived to the park with their kids it was a shock to me. Usually just my buddies would walk from their homes and meet me at the park, but apparently my dad's phone call was inspiring enough to bring the parents along. That is the beauty of a snow day: a normal day of sled riding can quickly turn into a community event where everybody became involved. Parents clapped as their children were whipped past them at the bottom of the hill. All of my friends yelled and screamed the entire day as they felt the cold snow tingling their noses. The community seemed to smile on snow days, and that may be because the only responsibility of the day was given to the snowplow man, but even he was not even highly responsible because everybody wanted another day just like the one we were experiencing at the time. The community let loose at the park, and they were all glad to miss a day of work. Everybody left the park just as the sun was falling into the night, and we all knew exactly what we would do when we got home.
Hot chocolate is a staple of snow days, and this epic snow day had no other way to end but with a giant cup of this delicious treat. My dad made our hot chocolate with milk, and I could drink three or four cups of it. My mom would come home to a fresh pot of hot chocolate and would be just as happy as my dad and I. My dad and I did not even have to tell her that we had a great day, because she could tell by our faces that had smiles lined with whipped cream. She knew that any day that ended with hot chocolate was certainly a good one, and this day was one of the best ever.
The day may have went perfect, but the fact is that things could have been done to prevent Global Warming, even on that day. It was unnecessary for any of the families that went to the park to drive. They all could have walked and saved gas. We could have taken the four-wheeler out of the equation and just used the hill for momentum. Even after going home there are steps that could have been taken. Instead of cranking the heater up, and sitting in the hot shower that has an industrial shower-head that drops about a million gallons of water a minute, I should have piled on some blankets and allowed the hot chocolate to warm me. Steps could have been taken, even on a perfect day.
Taking steps to reduce global warming do not have to only occur on snow days; in fact, things can be done every single day of the year. In the summer time a family could have the thermostat for their air conditioner set at the highest comfortable temperature to reduce the energy needed to keep the house cool. In the spring time families should purchase fresh fruits and vegetables from their local markets. This would reduce the need for big companies to manufacture goods using a lot of energy. Any time of year that the weather permits a family should try to travel using bicycles or walking. The amount of money the family would save is good enough reason to do so, but after knowing that the family could stop omitting harmful toxins into the air—it becomes completely necessary. If a vehicle is necessary, a family should purchase an eco-friendly compact. The best time to buy a car is in the winter, and if buying a new car is essential, taking a snow day to buy a hybrid is perfectly fine with me. Every day of the year we have an opportunity to better the environment in simple ways, an it is our responsibility to do so.
Days like that special snow day will be a thing only taught in textbooks if global warming continues and has its way with the climate. We can indeed do things to prevent global warming, and this must be done to continue the experience of snow days for future generations. Happiness is so important in daily life for a child, and a full proof way to do is to grant him or her a fun day with friends and no worries. A snow day is the recipe for happiness, and global warming is a threat to that happiness.
What is the best way to spend a snow day?
Hopedale, Ohio is known for three things: Clark Gable's childhood home, the first woman to have a successful face transplant, and Hopedale Elementary. The most important of the trio is certainly the elementary. The school was built in the middle of the 19th century as a college, and the building has stood tall ever since.
A levy to build a new school is presented to the voters in the community, but it is constantly shot down because the village refuses to demolish this landmark. I share the county's belief that the school should never cease to exist because it has a value that is infinite. The school ties together our small town and gives each child hope for a better tomorrow.
The fondest memories I have at the school involve the playground. The playground was where we could socialize and run through the grass without a care in the world. When I was in school, the playground was not home to a jungle gym, a see-saw, or even a set of swings. We had grass, an entire football field to be exact, and that is certainly all we needed. Lunchtime was not for consuming food, but for planning the giant game of tag that was to be held after we had dessert. Even only being in elementary school, all of my classmates knew that recess was important, and that just being outside—in nature—was important.
Hopedale elementary has something else that I can guarantee that most school's do not: our cooks actually cook their food from scratch. I can easily close my eyes and taste Ms. Rhonda's meatballs or Ms. Jan's corn casserole. Environmentally this saves thousands of miles that would have been traveled by truck drivers, and hundreds of plastics that would have ended up in landfills. Destroying the elementary would result in a new school that can change the value that Hopedale has put on home cooked meals. The carbon footprint of Hopedale Elementary has to be so much better than the other schools that are just another line in the chain. We did not have pudding delivered in a plastic cup, covered with tin foil. We had a bowl that was washed, and not thrown away, filled with pudding. We did not have a brownie that was pre-packaged with rainbow candies on top. We had a 1 inch by 1 inch brownie square that had been scraped off a pan that has been used for longer than I'd been alive. Hopedale had gotten the best out of everything it used, and everything was certainly used.
The things inside the school had not changed since when my mom had went there decades ago. The desks are still the same, and so are the floors they sit on. The children run onto the same field that their parents did. The principle sits in the converted dean's office of a century ago. The best way to “recycle” the school is to have it continue to do what it has always done: re-use until it cannot be used anymore. The school seems to never give up on things, and it is not because of the inability to fix things. The second the roof had a leak in it when I was in the 5th grade, the whole ceiling and roof was replaced. Financially the county has the power to maintain the school and keep all of its principles intact with it. The school and the county just believe in getting the most out of everything, which is why when a desk should last a few decades they make sure that it does.
If a levy was ever passed and a new school was ever to be built, the best thing to do would be to recycle all the material that makes up the interior and exterior of the school. Simply tearing down the building and shipping out the rubble would not benefit the environment or the community. The desks and supplies inside the school can certainly be used in any new school or even be given to other schools in the state that are in need. All of the wiring that connects each computer to the network can be used again in a new school or given away like the supplies. Even by tearing the school down, it must be used to the fullest, because it always has been.
If the school were to be taken down, the land plot should contain a memorial site. The building encases more than just knowledge and intelligence. It holds the memories of thousands of individuals who take a piece of the school with them every where he or she goes. A landmark that is environmentally friendly, and small would be perfect. Something that is open and has no doors would be perfect. The community would want a building that is more of like a walk-through with bits and pieces of the old school scattered throughout the structure rather than an enclosed museum. A shrine is the perfect word to describe what would best suit the village of Hopedale. The structure would not require electricity, running water or anything else. It would be completely free to the public. If nothing else, the structure has to restore the integrity that the school had built over the years. The public needs to be reminded that the school was a building unlike no other, and that the values that were exhibited over the hundred plus years it served as a school were far more important than the grades on anybody's report card.
What do you miss most about your old school?
According to Princeton's WordNet, 'Organic' is defined as: “of or relating to foodstuff grown or raised without synthetic fertilizers or pesticides or hormones; being or relating to or derived from or having properties characteristic of living organisms; simple and healthful and close to nature; relating or belonging to the class of chemical compounds having a carbon basis; a fertilizer that is derived from animal or vegetable matter.” This definition does not suffice, in that it leaves out the emotional undertones that fuel this word in my own as well as in our collective country's experiences.
First, it is important to establish where this word can be used. For most Americans, it is used to describe a sector in his or her supermarket. This section of the supermarket contains hundreds of items all with labels like “certified organic” or “100% organic”. These goods are stated to contain no pesticides or additives that would not occur in nature itself. I've also seen the products have labels such as “free range” or “free harvest” when inside this part of the supermarket.
The key concept I believe is left out of this standard definition is the shift in connotation that this word has had over the past years, even in my own life. The meaning of “organic” has transformed from being a safe haven for health, encompassing value and all positive notions, into a word that holds, in my opinion, a depth of negative perceptions. Of course, not everyone holds either a positive or negative view on the subject. I believe that there is no set association with this word, and it can be and often is taken one of two ways.
The positive points of this word were developed out of the large surge of 'health foods' during the past five to ten years. This new food market started out as something that could finally turn America's obesity problem around, and could possibly cure numerous diseases. Stripping foods of their preservatives and other synthetic ingredients started off as a great idea, and all of these products were proud to share the “organic” label. This classification represented something that was pure and transparent and that stood out above the countless aspartame-enhanced sludge that crowds the grocery aisles. When a consumer bought a product with the organic tag, they were certain they were buying into not only a product, but an entire movement that would not only change the way Americans consume food, but the world as a whole.
This feeling resulted in intense pride from consumers, and they also truly believed that their health would be bettered because of the purchase. This new need for an organic product allowed the American industries to do what they do best- capitalize on the consumer need. I remember when I could walk down a Wal-Mart aisle and be surprised to see one or two organic items. Major grocery stores now exist that are completely dedicated to selling certified organic foods. The best example of this is the rapidly growing profit machine, Whole Foods, which is largely regarded as the Wal-Mart of organic produce.
What's the problem with companies taking advantage of a new need in the market? That's just it; they are taking full advantage of the market. I still cannot understand how a product that praises itself for having far less ingredients than it's polar competitors can cost so much more. I have been in a Whole Foods chain on more than one occasion, and the prices are far above what should be expected.
This is what gives the word “organic” a negative connotation to me. I see things that are marketed as certified organic and I immediately think back to the high costs I saw on the shelves at organic food stores. I feel as though I am being tricked or mislead into believing in something genuinely helpful that, in reality, is simply profit based. The organic fight for a healthier world has been surpassed by the fight to produce a large profit. Being betrayed by something I believed in forces me think negatively about the word.
However, I also understand that this word can be taken positively by many people. Plenty of consumers still feel pride and comfort when purchasing organic products, and some of those products are authentic and fairly priced. As these emotions resonate in this group of individuals, they are happy with their purchases and can ultimately justify the cost. The price may be worth the pride and joy and even worth the chance that they're being deceived. These attitudes can be attributed to the successful marketing campaigns of the companies and/or the judgment of the consumers. These are the people that fuel the marketplace that is still rapidly growing. I do not share their opinions, but I do understand them.
Like many words in the English language, organic can be taken several different ways. At the same time, I think it consistently stays true to its definition. The definition stands firm in that it is not misleading. It also does not leave any room for further interpretation as far as its literal meaning is concerned. The problem, as discussed earlier, is that the definition lacks a connotative stance. After sifting through layers of its connotative meaning, we have come to understand that there are two separate feelings about this word.
First, the feeling of comfort and pride is based around the thought that the consumer is buying into a better lifestyle. This allows the consumer to justify the price spikes due to a greater demand. Because the consumer believes so strongly in the pride and comfort in which he or she sought out the product to begin with, the consumer has the ability to only focus on the positive.
Second, there is the feeling of distrust and misguidance. This is the negative interpretation and it is founded upon the belief that the prices of the products are unfair and unreasonable. Another large characteristic of this belief is that the companies are deceiving their consumers. The people who share this belief feel as though they are being taken advantage of and that they have been lied to.
So whichever way you choose, know that there are going to be people who view it differently. But at least you know the reasons people choose to do so. Whether you drink up an aspartame saturated Diet Coke, or you enjoy some fully organic root beer, learn to appreciate the other side.
What is your feeling about the word 'Organic'?
I am a product of a broken home. To most that statement alone would seem to have a negative connotation, but to me, it is nothing but positive. I lived in two separate houses for most of my adolescent life. I bounced back weekly to a new atmosphere and a new lifestyle. One week I would find myself in the suburb of the
United States ninth most dangerous city, and the next I would be spending seven days in a town that only about 1,000 people have ever heard of.
I grew up for the most part in
Hopedale, Ohio, which my friends and I know as “the 'Dale”. We all have a central base in our lives, something that gives each of us a small piece of comfort. When you close your eyes and you take yourself to that emotional place where you can feel no pain, that's the 'Dale. We have no stop lights, one police officer, no gas station, and what seemed like a thousand front porches filled with lemonade and rocking chairs. There's
984 residents in the 'Dale and we all know way more than each others name.
The layout of the village streets are irrelevant to anyone who has grown up there. We did not know 'East Street' or 'Virginia Street'. We knew 'Sean's Road' or 'Pig Alley'. The 'Dale to me still represents simplicity. Throughout the first decade of my life I had not a single worry, and every time I make a trip back down 'Sean's Road' I'm reminded of just how easy I had it. The town is so calm that the only disturbances were when a nearby town had a fire and our tri-state famous, volunteer fire department would roll out our one truck and come to the rescue.
The places I found the most absolute comfort in were the two basketball courts. I cannot count the number of days I spent every second of the daylight with a basketball in my hand running up and down the black top. One of the courts was located behind our school. The school was built as a college in the early 1800's, and the court was built probably around that time with hundreds of repairs since then. The cement had cracks and green blades of soon to be smashed grass curling up through them. The sun would come up and I'd fill up whatever bottles I could find with the only thing the basketball court lacked—water. I would then walk down through the backyards of my neighbors to one of my friend's house. We would take his ball, and dribble our way a quarter mile to the school. Until I was 12 this was my escape and this was what made everything so simple.
I remember very vividly the day that our small village somehow found the money to construct a park. Hopedale had about two acres that had always been an old coach pitch baseball field, but the city decided it was time to renovate. The small field was mauled down, and a basketball court and tennis court arose from the wreckage. This court was quickly assembled and took a few years before somebody decided to paint the court and make it look respectable. I have hundreds of sunburns from practicing my three-pointers on those crooked lines. Every summer day after football practice I would end up there. The blacktop would stain the bottom of my shoes and turn my ball black. My hands would ruin thousands of hand towels. I took pride in that park.
That was the 'Dale to me. It was small, simple, and above all comforting. It was everything that made me feel safe.
The polar opposite of Hopedale was
Youngstown, Ohio, a town known for its crime rate and ridiculous pot holes. I lived 15 miles away from Youngstown in a town called
Columbiana. This town had four fast food restaurants, two grocery stores, a movie rental store, and everything that Hopedale could never have. I did not have much of a social life in Columbiana aside from the people on my street because I did not go to school there. I also did not know much of the town, for the same reason. Eventually my brother got involved with a summer baseball team and all of his teammates would come over from time to time.
The one thing that was like home was my basketball court. I had half of a court in my backyard, with perfectly painted lines and a giant light so I'd never have to stop playing. When I couldn't sleep, I ended up outside. When I had too much homework, I ended up working on my free throws. This court was a more mature version of the ones back in Hopedale. I feel like I learned harder lessons there. I took a piece of the 'Dale's simplicity 60 miles away.
Outside of my 10 acre plot everything seemed much more complex. The roads were all marked, and some were one way streets. I still to this day do not have any emotional attachments to the town of Columbiana. It's just not enough like where I grew up.
My brother transferred schools last year, and every now and then I'll travel into Columbiana for a basketball game. I sit in the bleachers and everything seems very uninspired. It's not like back home. Back home we packed the gym every single night, the crowd was filled with what we called the “Kennel Krazies” who would paint “Harrison Central Huskies” across their chests for each home game. The gym embodied something special. Maybe it was the four years I spent doing suicides, or maybe it was just that the whole county was screaming at us for four quarters, 10 home games a season. Whatever it was, nothing compared to it.
Another thing that I truly believe should be considered part of my region is the highway. Every-other-week I would drive an hour to school each day, and then back again that night. I spent more time in my car some days than I did at home (not counting sleeping). My car became my region, and in a way, it became just another basketball court because it allowed me to feel everything that the black top or cement did. I had time to think for myself. Twenty-two, seven, and eleven were the names of the roads I would need. I could probably make the drive blindfolded. Whenever I would drive people up to my house in Columbiana they would complain at how boring the drive was, but the scenery was never an issue. I still notice things I had never seen before, but that is because I never needed to pay attention. The trips I would make weren't about entertainment, but fulfillment.
The reason this whole experience is positive is that I learned to appreciate where I came from. I could see the difference with my own eyes. I could experience it all myself. I enjoyed the change each week, because each place had something special for me. Hopedale had comfort and simplicity, while Columbiana had a change of pace and something that forced me to spend time with myself. I'm grateful for both places, and I'm even more grateful for the opportunity to spend a significant amount of time in each place. I'm sure everybody has very close ties to where (s)he grew up, but I don't think that person can fully appreciate exactly what they had until they branch out and live somewhere else. The beauty of my situation is that I could relive that appreciation every week.
How much do you miss living in your hometown?
