It is hot. It is so hot. Our thick Vermont blood was nary prepared for this. With the snap of Mother Nature's fingers, the slow, plodding spring turned suddenly, trading its gentle and cool breezes for the humid, utter stillness of summer. It feels... like Ohio. Convenient, because we're headed back to Ohio. One of life's funny ways.
We didn't exactly see it coming, though we'd be fooling ourselves if we espoused that moving home hasn't always been a Real Possibility. We are Midwestern to our core. Whatever it means to be so, we are it. Last night we were defining aloud the idiosyncrasies that make a Midwesterner middle-western, a New Englander northeastern. While hardly an expert of New England, it surprised us to feel pretty familiar with its kind. For all the reasons we have loved and needed this adoptive landscape, now we need Home more. Sojourns here and explorations there, the taproot of our heritage remains rooted in Ohio. Sam's great grandparents immigrated to Ohio from Poland one hundred years ago, and in Ohio their offspring remained. Though the branches of Mark's family tree are more far-flung, Ohio is, and always has been, home.
And, come August, home will actually be home again. When that oppressive late summer heat wraps itself around us, it will be a familiar (if unpleasant) embrace: a welcome back. Like a casserole dish of cheesy potatoes or a whole Saturday spent watching football—it might not be for everyone, but to us it just feels right.