During one of my many recent midnight wakings, I started thinking about landscapes and time. Specifically, time and the places I’ve lived. Whenever I’m asked where I grew up, I have to stop and think. When I was really young, we lived in southern Indiana. When I was five, we moved to a house on Lake Michigan, staying in that area for a few years, before returning to southern Indiana. Of course, the moves seem more frequent than they really were, and the time spans in each location seem lengthier. That’s the magic of childhood memories, I suppose. They are forever compressing and expanding.
Aqueduct, Metamora, Indiana, where we used to swim
We moved to Metamora when I was nine, and to Brookville when I was 13. We were only in Franklin County for five years, but sometimes it seems like we lived there forever. It doesn’t seem possible that so much living could be packed into such a small, finite compartment of time.
Along Patricksburg Road, Owen County, Indiana, a spot I used to pass every day
And then I started thinking about moving back to southern Indiana a few years ago. Six, to be exact; I left Muncie in the spring of 2001. After 18 years of flat earth, I just couldn’t stand it any longer. Every time I visited southern Indiana, I felt like I was coming home, and every time I returned to Muncie, I felt homesick. I missed the hills and trees of my childhood.
I stayed in Owen County five years before moving to Bloomington, where I’ve been for nearly a year. It doesn’t seem possible that I’ve been in back in southern Indiana for six years–a year longer than the time I lived here as a child.
Sunrise, Owen County, Indiana, January 2006
red paper boat 