I grew up in the hills of West Virginia. That will forever be a part of me, and to this day, 20 years after moving away, my pulse quickens and I breathe more deeply whenever I cross the state line and go back to where I'm from. If you haven't seen West Virginia in the fall, with the glorious colors of changing leaves all around, you've missed out on one of God's glories that you owe it to yourself to experience.
I couldn't find fall pictures, but you get the idea, right?
I didn't grow up on a farm, but I did grow up on a three-acre hillside. Up on that hill, I had a special rock in a clearing where I'd go to sit when I wanted to get away from everyone, including my family. It wasn't far from my house, but it felt far, because when sitting down on that rock, I couldn't see our house, or any other house on the hill. When the snow came, I could sled down that huge hill, better sled riding than any I've experienced in other states, right in my back yard.
When I ran cross country, it was real cross country, running up and down steep hillsides and through creeks. My own hill was so steep, that to run to the top, up to the radio tower above our property, seemed so far away that I could barely make it up there at a jog, even in the best of shape. I'm sure it was less than a mile away.
I went hunting on that hill with my father several times, although I didn't ever even really try to kill anything. I was a pretty good shot though, the best scoring girl (third place ribbon to prove it) in a gun safety course I took as a preteen. And my father had the boys who called my home asking for me as a teenager believing that I hunted and trapped often, or at least he tried.
I wouldn't change a thing about the way I was raised and where I grew up, and yet, I had a wanderlust all along, knowing as far back as I can remember that I'd go other places and see other things. I always wonder about people who live in exactly the same town their entire lives. Don't they know that they are missing out on so much? And they probably wonder about me as well. Don't I know what I'm missing out on, not living near my life-long friends and family, not experiencing everything my hometown had to offer?
In the first home Darrell and I bought together, I felt claustrophobic. It was so weird to step into our fenced in back yard and see neighbors on both sides so close that I could reach out and touch them if I went up to the fence. It was weirder still to have the neighbor girl tell us what we watched on TV the evening before. How did she see through the curtains? And why was she looking into our window in the first place?
So, why have I lived in true suburban neighborhoods ever since? Stay tuned for Part 2 to find out!
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