So, I am from small-town America.  I like picnics in the same spot, ordering my favorites at the restaurant down the street, seeing people I know everywhere, the accent, the potato-salad, the sweet tea that is never too sweet, and I guess everything.  I've never minded that the movies always come late to the theater, that the traffic is slower, that the people are older, that the old chicken factory is still open, that the intense-smoke-smelling Wal-Mart is still way to busy, and that I always get homesick when leaving.  I guess I'll never stop getting homesick after a dream of a visit.  It nourishes my soul.  Don't get me wrong, college is a dream in itself.  I love my school.  The adventures, people, classes, campus are all endearing, and close to my heart.  However, I have ultimately been shaped by my small-town roots.  I can't but long for the mountains, the familiarity, and the safeness.  Growing up is a hard thing to experience.  No one tells us how complicated life becomes as we say goodbye to the small-town of our child-like minds into the metropolis of  our adult brains.

I'll be sitting in class at certain times in the day, and just day-dream about the experiences of my life.  During Christmas break I walked back into our woods just for the reminder of the lush beauty it brought into my life all those years.  I loved going fishing for crawdads.  My mom would always yell for us to come to the house.  My brothers and I would race back to see who would get into the kitchen first.  Oh what fond memories I have of that place.