Country Roads

John Denver came on my ipod today while I was in the kitchen. I stared out the window at the Industrial district of my town--complete concrete jungle--but my mind took me back to Virginia, where I went to college. My eyes could see the beautiful, rolling hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the plush green of trees that grow naturally (and not with the help of massive irrigation), and the pale misty fog that would come in each morning.

As I listened to that song play (and for some reason, it's been playing alot recently), I felt very American. Red, white, and blue American. Sweet tea and apple pie American. Go Yanks American. I've pondered that feeling all day long.

You see, in the last few days, I've been spending alot of time with TCK's (Third Culture Kids)--kids, who are being brought up overseas because of their parents' jobs. Most every time I've ever spent an in-depth amount with TCK's, they've lived in one country their whole life, and returned 'home' to the states every few years for a visit to family members they hardly know. But the TCK's here are alot like me: they've moved every couple of years. I had five of them over for dinner the other night, and we reflected on all the places we'd lived.

Germany, Korea, Portugal, Turkey, Kazakhstan, Afghanistan, Costa Rica, Venezuela, Thailand, Azerbaijan, Cyprus, Russia, Hungary, and Iran.

Languages fluently spoken: Russian, French, Spanish, Farsi, Kazak, Azeri, Greek, Portuguese. (Myself excluded, the average age in the room was 13).

Not a single one of us in the room had lived in this country for even a year. The next day at a business meeting with some of their parents, we discussed realty problems in this area, and how all of us will more than likely have to move within the next 18 months. The parents moaned in sorrow of having to replant their children again.

I thought of all this today as I heard John Denver belt away...

Almost heaven, west virginia
Blue ridge mountains, shenandoah river
Life is old there, older than the trees
Younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze

Country roads, take me home
To the place, I be-long
West virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads

All my memories, gather around her
Miner's lady, stranger to blue water
Dark and dusty, painted on the sky
Misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye

Country roads, take me home
To the place, I be-long
West virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads

I hear her voice, in the morning hours she calls to me
The radio reminds me of my home far a-way
And driving down the road I get a feeling
That I should have been home yesterday, yesterday

Country roads, take me home
To the place, I be-long
West virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads

I don't know where HOME is, but somehow I understand what ole John was singing about, and would like to take a ride on one of those country roads.

But home is most currently 1307 in the building above the post office, and the only country roads around here lead to the desert where camels rule. Is there a way to adequately explain the dichotomy in my heart of understanding HOME, and that I have left it behind to make a new one elsewhere? If there is, will somebody ask John Denver to write a song for me about it?

Country roads, take me home
To the place, I be-long
West virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads