This County

I grew up in this county. I was born here, got my first hit here, played my first round of golf with my dad here, kissed my first girl here, said I do to my wife here, took my first job, took all my jobs here. My children were born here.They grew up here. My wife and I remained firmly planted here even after the nest emptied.

For me, this began here the year Dwight Eisenhower became President, the first full year Mickey Mantle patrolled center field at the Stadium. 

And then came the pandemic. One year ago this weekend, we left this county, seeking a different shelter from a storm that had descended with frightening fury upon us, that threatened us in ways we were only beginning to comprehend. One year ago we determined it was not safe to be here. One year ago we could have imagined nothing other than we would be returning here soon.

One year later we are fully vaccinated. One year later the terrible, terrifying fear has begun to dissipate. One year later there seems no real reason to stay away.

Except we are not sure we will ever return.

One year later this county is no longer attached to me like an umbilical cord. One year later I have learned that here is just a word. 

There is sadness in that thought. There is sadness in the possibility of goodbye.

I love this county. It has given me far more than I have deserved. It has treated me with kindness and filled my plate to overflowing with memories that keep me warm even from this distant perspective.

In the past year, we have been taught terrible lessons of isolation, of loneliness, of a loss of identity, of place, of a space in which everything fit. But we have also learned lessons of resilience and of creating new places, new spaces out of necessity. And so it has been for me. And so my reality has shifted. And so my perceptions have altered.

But should we part, wherever I am, I will carry this county with me, held close to my heart. I will always live here. No matter where I reside.