2 September 2002

Ohio and France

I think Southeast Ohio and France have a lot in common.  Don’t laugh.  It’s true.

Just today as I walked in the drizzle down the hill from taking our little one to public school I was thinking fondly of Ohio.  Maybe it was the drizzle.  Possibly it was the lopsided way I had to walk coming down the hill.  It all reminded me of that far off place that holds my heart.

My heart has remained in the hills that make up Southeast Ohio ever since the first time I moved away in 1982 to follow the warmth of Florida’s winter sunshine.  During those years of self-imposed exile whenever I was feeling low, or ill I would float back in my mind to a view of the trees and the smell of freshly cut grass. 

Later on, when we could afford to buy some land we found a place near Philo (God’s green earth).  I would walk the fields and tell my darling husband that if I were dying and could get back to this place I would not die.  He would smile because he felt the same way.

Whenever we leave Ohio to return to the outside world of work and politics we are sad to go.  We spend our entire absence keeping the thought alive that we will return as soon as we can.  We love the people and their honest values, the land and the heritage Southeast Ohio represents.  My long line of Ohio ancestors would be proud.

So call me “mushy” if you must, but I have now found that my little corner of France conjures up the same feelings that I have for Ohio.   My “garden” as they call it in France is a small courtyard of flowers and grass with a 12 foot stonewall surrounding it.  In order to create this garden we dug up every inch of grass to smooth the lawn out and then we lined the walls with flower beds.  At the first drop of rain we have more mud then you can shake a stick at.

The rural people here have demonstrated great kindness to us (occasionally one has behaved poorly, but that’s being human I guess).  They have welcomed us into their homes, fed us and helped us in various ways.

The land is the loveliest I’ve ever seen with rolling fields of yellow mustard and winding roads.  Off in the distance church steeples and the surrounding town walls look as if they served as the model for all those wonderful French landscape postcards.

The only thing lacking is that I have no history here.

For today, as it drizzles I will focus on the commonalities that we all have as human beings and be grateful that if I can’t be somewhere near Philo, Ohio, I am blessed to be in France.