Growing up in small town Indiana afforded me many luxuries. Say huhwha? You heard me.
Spending last week yukking it up with my sisters- we all invaded the “hometown sister’s” house- made me realize what an influence the landscape of our childhood had on us.
While we were busy tending to the business of growing up and turning our parents hair gray, the Indiana landscape was busy shaping each of us.
The smell of freshly mowed grass while I argued “She started it!”
The perfect rows of corn fields between my house and my best friend’s farm.
The sway of wheat in the wind while we roared past singing “Sweet Child of Mine!”
The glassy reflection off the lake during those first awkward flirtations.
The sound of crickets over our whispered plans to save the world.
The sound of a combine while I logged in my hoop time each night. (Basketball is the 11th commandment in Indiana- “thou shall love basketball”)
This must be what shaped my “It Ain’t The House” outlook.
Once in a blue moon, I get the chance to talk with the friend that grew up on the other side of the cornfield.
It is always like a breath of fresh Indiana air. (Not the stinky pig manure kind of Indiana air but the first scents of spring kind of air!) There is something settling about friends that knew you before you could vote, before families, before careers, before mortgages and waaaay before crows feet tiptoed across your face!
I roared out of town at the end of our visit. This time, in a minivan. This time, singing along to Raffi. Instead of shouting to my girlfriends in the backseat “Pass me the Aquanet!”, I shouted to my kiddos “Pass me my camera! Just get a look at those fields!”