I just about hyperventilated in the car when I spotted the Ferris Wheel as we approached the Bangor State Fair. I'm a mess of contradictions: I never want to live in Georgia again, but I miss it dearly. I miss land stretched beyond the highway; deer on the side of the road, their quick gestures at the approach of headlights; simple pleasures like annual festivals and dollar theaters and running into people you knew growing up; the crunch of the gravel driveway to my parents' house; the smell of my grandparents' house, my grandpa's pipe and heavy southern accent.
As I get older and once-abstract concepts like "marriage" and "children" take shape and join my realms of possibility, I become more nostalgic for the place and the people I will always call home. Bangor was even farther from home than I usually am, but the redneck tendencies, the minimalism, reminded me of home.