And something my old pal voxels said last summer sounds especially true right now:
There are fences in that pasture, even though someone may have left the gate open.
What separates your love for home from your love for East Tennessee? Home is the place you bring someone to show them your peculiar nature. Peculiar are the lightning bugs that rise off a field far into the trees. Trees surround the lakes with depression era silos biding time as fish farms, and that is East Tennessee.
We drove around the sweeping Wisconsin countryside today, only seven miles from town or so. It's everywhere around us--baby cows sleeping in big dog kennels, a stone millhouse, red silos and open barn doors and square mile after square mile of corn. It's nice to know we'll have that nearby for these few years, before returning through the open gate. To the bittersweet fenced-in feeling of home.
Happy Independence Day.
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