ALMOST HEAVEN

When Dan and I were scaling Half Dome at Yosemite, a fellow hiker cheered, "Alright Mountaineers!" Though I'd like to think that this was because we looked so impressive on the trail, it was actually because we both were wearing our WVU hats. (Translation for any who need it-- School: West Virginia University, Mascot: Mountaineer) Note that this was a coincidence since I would never plan to match my husband's wardrobe even on a hike in the mountains. It just so happened that his old hat was perfect for sweat and mine seemed to work best with a ponytail.

Months later, I was IN my car already about to drive out of a parking lot when a lady called out to me through my closed window, "Where are you from?" I was caught off guard at first, but looked down and realized that sure enough my West Virginia sweatshirt had given me away.

Now this to me is very odd. Because quite often I am asked how far away I lived from Virginia Beach, it appears that some people have no idea that West Virginia is a state all on it's own and that when I say I am from there it is not like saying, "I'm from Northern California." Though that does have a nice ring :)

Back to the odd part... Basically I am stunned when people recognize WVU garb in these parts. Why do complete strangers pick up on subtle signs like college logos, make the connection that you must be linked to the place your clothes are advertising and then feel compelled to talk to you about it? That's because there's no place like my home.

West Virginia is unique. On the map, it is right in the middle of the mid-Atlantic states. The people there are southern in flavor, but sided with the north during the Civil War. The clocks are set in the eastern time zone, but the Appalachians separate it from the east coast. It appears to belong nowhere which is why the folks there all belong to each other.

It is a "geographical oddity" (Name the movie.) Not "two weeks from anywhere", but four hours. Metropolises with larger economies and entertainment venues can be found in any direction. That's why we only (Well pretty much only, sorry Marshall) have one team. And we cheer for them, (in the words of my uncle) "...because it's all we got."

We go out of town for those bigger things and allow my little capital city to stay quaint and charming. Dan says the downtown "has a small town feel." It is beautiful, calm and historically rich. A river in the middle, trees on every corner and all around are the hills. Some might find the narrow valleys suffocating, but I always saw them as protection. The mountains were how I knew I was safe, how I knew I was home.

When I go visit, it feels different because I am not only going to family, but am going to a place. A place of refuge, a place of bonding.

The weeks around Christmas, we were all together. We were all there. It was in this place where Calli and her twin cousin seemed to find exploring Grandma's stairs together better than new toys under the tree. Where simple things were the delight. Where dialogue of uprooting, trading and selling beans of every variety filled the air often. (This caused my Dad to walk by and announce, "This game sounds stupid", knowing that it must be interesting if we were ALL playing it ALL the time and knowing we didn't care what he said because it was-- completely interesting and captivating, not stupid that is.) Where treats were plentiful and had the little ones begging for "moah" (more).

Though I, luckily for my weak stomach's case, do not have to take country roads to get back where I belong for a little while, I am glad when I get the chance.