This past Monday I headed back over toward where I grew up to meet a friend for coffee 1. As is typical for me when I head over the river to Pennsylvania, my heart was filled with a longing to be home. The hills, the sight of familiar landmarks, and the way roads are cut through the scenery fill me with a sense of being “where I’m from.” Driving through the valleys of home under a late Fall canopy of colored leaves, while passing by the bedrock which was exposed to form the road bed, captures my heart 2.
Crossing the Delaware, back to New Jersey, always fills me with a pang of longing. This past Monday the longing was stoked be a bit stronger than usual by the apt-timed airing of Peter Gabriel’s “Solsbury Hill” on the radio as I returned to my current home base. There are times where I wish someone would say to me, “Grab your things, I’ve come to take you home.”
It not that I dislike where I live. I’ve grown quite fond of New Jersey, it’s just not where I’m from.
- I was stuck in my head working on my Penny Gnomes map, so I was late. Thankfully, my friend is patient. ↩
- The exposed bedrock thing might sound odd, but there’s something about driving on roads which are cut into a hill which envelopes me in familiarity. I feel like I’m passing though the landscape as one of its features, rather than over it as an interloper. I never knew how much I missed this feeling until I travelled to the costal plain of South Jersey. ↩
Painfully Hopeful 