We are home.
You read my blog and we know each other...but you've probably never seen where I grew up and you'll never guess what it's nickname is; that's right, The Carousel City.
What does that mean?
Well, it means there's a ding dang carousel smack dab in the middle of town...that's what it means.
These are my people.
This is where I'm from.
We ride on carousels and go the the movie theater that has one screen...yes, they still have those.
We can walk to the grocer's, the post office, the bank, and the courthouse and back home in 45 minutes tops.
We take photos of the big old courthouse that reminds us of To Kill a Mockingbird.
We ride in the back of pick-ups and we don't wear bike helmets.
We climb the trees we see, because there might not be another one for miles.
We grow corn and wheat and soybeans.
We buy Claritin because of the above.
We go to the local gas station to learn the news of the day.
We ride law mowers down the street.
We know whose dog belongs to who.
Every street in town reminds me of something.
This is where I spent hours perfecting my free throw.
That is the place my backpack strap got stuck in my spoke and I fell.
That is the corner I wiped out on the loose gravel.
There is the library I spent hours of my childhood.
Where you're from is part of who you are.
For some, it's the city...as in the big city.
Faulkton...the Carousel City is not that kind of city.
It's small, with a big fat heart...and a carousel smack dab in it's middle.
My history. My first home.
And now we're back to our Asheville home. We missed our love, Daddy, Mister. Eleven days is a long time to be apart, but we so enjoyed our time...more to come.