I'm going home to Queensbury from Boston in about a week. Right now I'm missing everything about where I live. I was born in Boston and I like it here, but it's not my home and I can't imagine it will ever soothe me in the way the plot of land I grew up on does.
None of my friends from Boston have ever been to my house so I can make it sound as spectacular and fanciful as I want and they can't call me on it. I want to bring people home and show them how fantastic life is where I grew up even though I know that they wouldn't see the same things in it I do. They'd see the barn and think it's quaint while I look at it and see my whole family history. We'd go out to eat and they just wouldn't have the same memories of the Harvest pizza or Martha's ice cream to be nostalgic about. Whether I took my Boston friends to the spectacular Adirondack Balloon Festival or the representative, but dubious Americade they wouldn't understand my feelings about the events. When I talk to people about my home they assume it's just another farm in some corn field, but it's not. It's a desirable location that people travel the world to visit and I was lucky enough to come from there. I haven't been able to convince anyone from Boston to come see where I come from, but I want to share it so they understand me just a little better. Places are a part of you. I want to share my whole self with certain friends and I feel that won't be complete until people see my farm.
I'm sure most people feel about their home the same way I do, but my house really is a very very nice house. I would live there forever if I could. If I didn't have career objectives and a crippling inability to drive (get on it Google) I would move home in a heartbeat and never leave. My parents are cool and they throw great parties. I like being in a place where everybody knows my name. Someday, maybe, I'll be able to really go back home, but for right now I have to accept that three weeks in August is really plenty of vacation.