This year I moved to Provo, Utah from the Southern Californian desert. Driving away from my hometown, as on any road trip, I passed these and several hundred other windmills on the way out:
(Photo: Jeff Turner)
Imagine my pleasant surprise when, from the top of Maeser hill, I spied these windmills on the edge of Utah Valley:
Last night, I had a conversation with a friend about what makes the place you live home. My parents moved to a new house while I was away at school, and so when I visit the desert, there are places more familiar to me than the house my family lives in. I was looking at a PostSecret book, and someone had sent in a card reading, "I want to go home. But I am home." It reminded me that (no offense, family; I'm excited to see you) I will probably wish I was back in Provo when I go back to the desert in about two weeks.
I think that this year, Provo has become more home to me than the desert. It amazes me how quickly it has become the setting for great memories, the milieu for my friends, and the backdrop for my life.
This I Believe essay in the works?