H is for Home (or Hub)

I was back home in Michigan over the weekend. My mom, sister, and I attended a big country music festival. I enjoyed putting on my redneck side, wearing a cowboy hat, and singing along with awesome artists. No one really cares, but Lee Brice and Thomas Rhett really impressed me and I want Chris Cagle to be my new best friend.

Anyway, one of the sponsors of the festival was a car dealership and I made my mother and sister stand with me while I took a picture of us in the hubcap of an awesome VW van. Good times.

The rest are just some pictures I took of Grand Rapids while we were driving by on Sunday night. It's not really home, of course, but it's the first city I ever loved. 

It had been almost a year since I had been back.  I had forgotten about the sheer number of trees, the beautiful sunsets, and what it felt like to be around people who also root for the Detroit Lions and think they can win it all this year.  I had forgotten what it was like to harass my sister until she just gives into my silliness and how my mom can ignore our antics no matter how loud and boisterous we get.  I had forgotten how it feels to be around friends who've known me since second grade, whose grown ass teenaged children embrace me and make me feel like the coolest adult in the room, and how it feels to stand on the deck in your nightgown and bare feet and listen to the corn rustle in the wind.

Yes, home is with my husband and my cat, but Home is where the corn grows and the sky is bluer than any photograph can capture.