Rolling Hills and Plains Girl

I've always thought I could live anywhere and breathe easy and feel at home.   Anywhere.  But, I have been to the mountains and the beach in the last couple of weeks, and being back on the road to the Heartland gently ushers my suspicion into conclusion.

I am a Rolling Hills and Plains girl. I like all of the other places a lot. I just don't want to live there.

I have to admit my surprise. I spent all of my childhood driving through the Flint Hills of Kansas wondering why the people who lived there didn't move to some prettier place. Like the beach or the mountains. Or at least by a lake where they could cool off on a hot summer day.

 I've always thought that Kansas was the best place to be from because everywhere else was interesting and astonishingly beautiful by comparison.

And yet, after some time in the mountains, I find my neck stretching and my eyes straining for the view on the other side.  After some time at the beach, I crave the quiet that the crashing waves cannot give.

 I have come to know that I love a wide horizon.  I love that long line where the Big Sky meets the sprawling Earth and the trees that grow on it.   

Until this last weekend, I did not know that the mountain dwellers of Colorado have never seen a thunderstorm that lights up the entire sky until they found their way to the plains.

 As I drive, I think about what endears a person to a place.  It probably boils down to beauty and love and the memorable or forgettable things that happened there.  I guess that is why the Flint Hills of Kansas and the open spaces of Texas are the dearest to me.  

 Time has revealed their beauty and increased my ability to wonder at them. God willing, I will go to more beautiful places still, but not to stay.