People always say, “it’s the little things you miss” when you go away to school or just leave home, but for me, it’s the big things. It’s the nature, it’s the love, and it’s the realness of the two. Sure, at times, I long to eat an ice cream cone from the run-down, family-owned, and overlooked Rita Marie’s on the edge of town; to drink a half-way decent glass of wine that doesn’t come from a box; and to not have to pay for my own, insanely expensive, naturally grown, almond milk. I do miss those little things. But there are other things I miss much more and have come to associate with the phrase “I’m going home.” I miss the serenity of the Berkshires. I miss the nature. I miss the calm.
I miss the laid back life style I’m allowed to resume when I go home and, most of all, I miss the person I am when I’m at home.
Boston, college, and my hard-working parents have all taught me how to go, go, go. They have shown me how important it is to be busy and to be doing things that will propel me into my career. They have ultimately taught me how to be successful in this fast-paced country we live in. But the glaring difference between my parents and Boston is that my parents have also taught me how to relax, how to take a step back and appreciate where I am in any moment. It’s a skill that is extremely important and is infinitely easier to do when I’m home in the Berkshires.
My dad is a lawyer, yet one of his favorite things to do is work on his grape vines on the edge of our secluded property for hours on end. It’s his version of zoning out. My mom is a teacher in a needy town, and she finds her release by spending her summer mornings on the front porch, reading with a cup of coffee in hand and her two black, furry babies guarding her from the scary squirrels and whistling leaves while her other teenage babies sleep. My parents know how to get back to their roots, not letting the “real world” (and what I believe to be the fake world) bog them down. By simply watching my parents, I have learned what is important: nature, yourself, and the serenity and love that come with tying those two together.
Thanks to my parents, the Berkshires, and my dogs, going home means returning to the real things.
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My dog, Addie, while hiking with me.
Although I don’t enjoy working on grape vines and often times don’t get up early enough to read on summer mornings, I do enjoy the calm, just as my parents do. I find it through hiking. I love exploring land that is naturally created and not manmade, like cities are. I don’t listen to music when I hike and I barely look at my black, bulky, Velcro watch that I bought specifically for my hiking excursions. Instead, I listen to the chipmunks scurrying on leaves and up trees as they become afraid of the girl that has entered their territory. I also search for where the rocks drop off, which can potentially lead to some of the most awe inspiring views of the towns below.
Addie, my dog, does the same. But instead of listening for chipmunks, she hunts them, and instead of looking for rock drops, she runs carelessly by them. Addie is my hiking dog and part of the true love I return to when I go home. She is also the best friend I could’ve ever asked for because I truly believe parts of our souls are the same. By day we hike and ignore all of our responsibilities. She prances ahead but always turns around to make sure she can still see me. By night we stay awake. Together we read and cuddle in my bed.
Going home, for me, means returning to the people, animals, and sights that effortlessly make me smile. Going home means shedding the tight skirts and professional button downs I have become accustomed to and pulling on worn down jeans and windbreakers. Going home means returning to the real me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m infatuated with Boston, the city life, and the infinite opportunities I have here, but Boston isn’t the home to the people, places, activities, and animals that have shaped my identity for the past eighteen years. Lanesborough and the mountains are. When I miss home, it’s the big, the natural, and the important things I long for and the person I am allowed to be when I interact with the three.
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Featured image: Erin Dodig
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