“Where is everything?” she asked as we drove past the corn fields which filled the horizon. “This is it!” I said, knowing she’d be in shock of the sparseness of the open landscape. She was from a town in which the grocery store was a 5 minute walk from her house--she’d never seen this much open space in her life. Taken back by the ubiquity of corn fields, I shared with her what it was like to grow up in rural Ohio, and in that moment, she finally knew who I was and where I came from. Driving down a two-lane country road, you will reach a quarry which is filled with water. Just past it is the small development I live in. The houses are mostly composed of brick and stucco. All the houses have at least a half an acre of land to themselves which everyone takes pride in maintaining. During springtime, annually planted flowers are abundant along with the midwestern trees that change with every season. The driveways are all filled with the highest end Mercedes Benz luxury cars that glisten in the midday sun after a good, old-fashioned car wash. Continuing along the road toward my grey stucco home, my Korean neighbor is always outside with a friendly face. He tends to spend the entire day mowing his lawn and can be heard singing over his mower’s hum. Everyone in the neighborhood gets a laugh out of him, but he is always genuine and an amazing person with a unique history. He has grown older and has lost some of his wit as he aged. In his past he was a doctor and usually blends in with the grass and his John Deer Zero Turn mower. Finally, you will reach my home. In the side yard, geese are abundant and are chased by our Terrier. Out back, there is a small stream that feeds into the quarry. Here, you can hear bullfrogs, the stream, and the occasional “moo” from the nearby farms. Across the handmade wooden bridge is an untouched oasis filled with naturally growing trees, herbs, and wildflowers. Here was where I spent most of my childhood. From building tree forts to ‘hunting’ animals (which mostly consisted of chasing them), there was always something to do and usually a neighborhood child available for friendship. The winters in my small town can be painfully brutal, yet there is nothing more beautiful. The yard transforms from a sea of green into an empty wilderness. The trees that once housed vibrant pink, purple, and orange flowers turn into barren skeletons of bark. When blessed with the occasional snowfall, a winter wonderland appears overnight. The backyard is lined with snow angels made by my little sister, and snowmen. My sister and I fought frequently as kids, and during the winter, snowballs were our weapon of choice. We’d build massive igloo-like forts to house our weapons, usually with branches, like an arsenal. In our own little wonderland was where we played pretend during a time where nothing else mattered. We were just young kids without a care in the world.
