I come from the country.
It defines me in various ways. The way I treat people. The way I interact.
But it also grounds me.
I only spent 6 years of my life there, until I moved to the Peninsula.
At the school named Peninsula. At the golf courses of the Peninsula. On the beaches of the Peninsula.
Yet I don’t feel linked to these as I do the country.
They don’t define me in the same way. They don’t hold the same reverence in my memories.
Why that is I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps being that little bit older helps. You let thing wash over you a little more and don’t let the little things change your ways as much.
Admittedly, I do romanticize the country. The clean air, the warmth, the fire, the wind, the water. The ocean, the birds, the cattle, the tractors. My Pub.
But I think this is natural. When you are small its easy to consider those things that are bigger than you are also of more importance.
The people, the buildings, the events.
A pub isn’t your usual place of upbringing, but then again, what is?
I’d hide in between crates of beer, and shovel ice into bags and package it up.
We’d climb on roofs and hide under the deck, searching for money.
All the while I’d make a new friend, or lose one to the big smoke. Get in a fight or hurt someone’s feelings.
Feelings are important.
These days I’m bigger, more reflective. Perhaps a little wiser and a little more attuned.
The little things still satisfy me despite living in the big smoke that used to gobble up my friends.
I can see the value in lots of things, not just those that appear before me and I can differentiate between the big things and those that aren’t worth my time.
After all, moving from a small town certainly does open one’s eyes.