This Ain't New York

That Good, Red Earth

Cheryl (www.lifeismadeof.blogspot.com) left the most beautiful tribute to her home of Arkansas while commenting on my "Priceless" post. She shared how it felt to cross the state line and come home. It does just make you feel good.

As I read her comment, I thought about the many times I have crossed the line into Georgia after living away for so long. I knew exactly how Cheryl felt. I remember many moments crossing the state line. I can see it in my mind- crossing a bridge across the Chattahoochee River, looking down at the river, I think about how the water may be a little low because there hasn't been much rain, or maybe the water is high because of flooding. I can hear the rhythmic sound of the car crossing the bridge beneath, and then the smooth asphalt. There's the sign, "Welcome to Georgia!" I lean forward to be the first one in Georgia and I smile.

There is a really sweet feeling that comes over me when I am home, not just home where I grew up, but "home home"- anywhere in Georgia. I have some of the best memories of Southeast Georgia near the Okefenokee Swamp visiting with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins who all still live in that area. Many childhood memories are surrounded by tall, thin pine trees, saw palmettos, moss covered Live Oaks, and dark, murky swamp water.

I grew up in Southwest Georgia playing in red clay. It is so cliche' for a Southern girl to quote Gone With The Wind, but there is a scene when Scarlett picks up that red clay and throws it into the face of a former employee. She tells him, "That is the only part of Tara you will evah have!" There is something special about land, the actual dirt of the earth that makes you feel like you are home. After all, roots plant firmly in good earth.

My home is truly where my own family is now. But, one day I want my daughter to know what it means to own a piece of land, real land, not a patio home, or 1/4 of an acre with a privacy fence surrounding it. Real land with real dirt and real trees. You know, the trees you can climb on or hang a tire swing from. The trees that don't budge in the strongest wind. Trees that have seen generations of freckled faced kids. That is what I wish for her.

I hope that she will appreciate what it means to own the dirt beneath you, to respect the earth God made, and to cherish it deeply. To know the feeling of crossing the bridge into a place she will call home, then to lean into it, and smile.