The Town That Built Me

A county road by Lake Sakakawea, home to many a bonfire and sleepless night

I grew up in Beulah, North Dakota, approximately 75 miles from the nearest Starbucks and 10 miles from a movie theater, which, might I add, hosts only two screens. Diversity at its finest. I was a freckle faced teen with two seemingly contradictory feelings about "my" town (as I so arrogantly referred to it): a great deal of hometown pride and the simultaneous urge to get the hell out already. I would sit in my high school sociology class, debating the importance of things that seemed to be so commonsensical to me at the time (i.e. equal rights for all Americans, regardless of race, sexual orientation, religion, or lack there of). But no matter how matter-of-fact I would make myself sound, no matter how many "STOP BEING IGNORANT"s I would throw in there, I felt as if my words were falling on deaf ears. I realize now that my name-calling and finger pointing probably weren't helping me to persuade and "enlighten" the masses. 

By my senior year, that urge to move away grew into a restless fever; I felt like I was suffocating in a town filled with people who knew too much about me, or at least thought they did. I was sick of the labels, the gossip, the judgment, and the rumors. I needed out - STAT. And so I went. I moved four hours away, fell in love with a guy way out of my league, and never moved back - not even for the summers that so many of my friends did. I was loving the life I had in a new place, with new people, and with new information. I never imagined moving back. I still had a soft spot in my heart for all things Beulah but, in all honesty, I was "over" it. I felt I had milked that experience for all it was worth and I was content with leaving it in the dust.

Sommershine Hill: winter days were spent sledding down then huffing and puffing my way back up

I soon learned that you can never quite predict an emotion until you are smack dab in the middle of it. If faced with the hypothetical of my parents moving away from my hometown, selling the house I grew up in, and taking new jobs in a town I knew hardly anything about, I would have told you that I would feel slightly heartbroken at first, probably have a good cry, but that I would quickly applaud my parents for taking that brave new step. In reality, it was the opposite. I was so happy for my parents when they told me that they were moving to Jamestown, about three hours east of my hometown of Beulah, and only about an hour away from my current residence. Good for them, I thought upon hearing the news. It will be so nice having them so close.And don't get me wrong, I am beyond thrilled for my parents. I admire them for taking new jobs across the state when most people their age are thinking about retirement plans.

But today on my drive home from work, buckled in to my Toyota Matrix and thinking about my parents' first week of work for the Jamestown Public Schools, I hear Miranda Lambert's "House that Built Me" on the radio and, suddenly, I am in tears. The man next to me at a red light gives me a look of sympathy. I smile politely through my sobs. He looks away awkwardly, as if he just caught me in the middle of something too personal for a stranger's eyes. 

As I listen to the song, I realize just how many memories were made in that charming little house on Sheila Drive. The new owners have no idea how many times I sat in the closet connecting my sister's bedroom to my own, cup pressed up against the closet door, eavesdropping on her conversations with her countless boyfriends. I, on the other hand, had my chemistry set and my American Girl dolls. Womp womp. They don't know how many apple pies we made from the two apple trees in the backyard or how many hours were spent decorating sugar cookies at the kitchen counter. They don't know how many Christmas cards and prom pictures were taken by the fireplace in the basement. They didn't see the pride on my parent's faces when the new kitchen was finally complete. They have no idea that my ex-boyfriend carried me up those stairs with a broken toe after I kicked him in the shin. Mom and Dad, consider this my formal apology for lying. I didn't "trip" after all, but I'm sure you already knew that. You always did.

The good ol' days when a bunny costume didn't have to be a "sexy" bunny costume. I miss you, childhood.

Until a few months ago, I would have never thought I would miss the wheat fields of Coal Country. I would have never thought that a simple song on the radio would make my heart ache for a place I had cursed so many times.  But I miss it. I miss the way the football field looked in the fall, surrounded by trees hundreds of years in the making, decorated with orange and yellow leaves. I miss wandering around the schools, with the smell of markers and Elmer's glue lingering in the hallways. I miss familiar faces asking how I'm doing and genuinely wanting to hear the answer. I miss the kind of kindness and consideration that you can only find in a town as small as mine, the sort of homegrown sensitivity and "help your neighbor" attitude that inspires fleishkuekle feeds or pancake benefits for any residents in the middle of tough times.

I continue listening as MIranda sings, "Out here it's like I'm someone else, I thought that maybe I could find myself..." No matter how hard I search, I will never find that same sense of home that I used to feel in Beulah. There are moments I wish so badly that I could relive but I realize now that I'm wishing to go back to the way things never were. I heard an expression that goes something along the lines of, "The past is never quite as great as we remember it, the present never as boring, and the future never as scary." I can't get back the innocence and the youth that ran through my veins all those years ago. I can't relive my first kiss, my first dance, the first day at my first job, or my graduation day. What I can do is look back with a smile, thanking God for blessing me with a happy childhood, allowing me to meet some wonderful friends, challenging me with some painful experiences, and leading me to the life I have now. 

Beulah, my dear, we've had some tough times.. a love hate relationship if you will.. but you will forever be my hometown. Thanks for making me the woman I am, for better or worse. I love you for it.

P.S. Go Miners!