There are two places I've been--New England and Paris--where I've had the experience of feeling as though my soul had lived there before.
The first time was when I visited New England. When I was 13, my family had the opportunity to spend a long weekend with friends at their home on Cape Cod. I immediately felt as if I were home. I cut my long nails, of which I had been so vain, so I could go clamming. I, the incredibly fussy eater, had lobster and clams on the beach with nary a thought. I discovered the deliciousness of Beach Plum Jelly.
From there my family and I went on to Boston and I knew someday I had to live there. And I did. When I had the opportunity for a year of school in Boston, I leapt at it and ended up living there for five wonderful years. I loved the history, architecture, tradition, the scenery from the rocky coasts to the old mountains, and the seasons--not always the weather, but the change of seasons and colors of each.
But it was not just Boston proper: From the Cape to Maine, from the coast to Western Mass, through New Hampshire and Vermont; every chance I had, I was on the road exploring. I loved when friends from New Jersey, where I grew up, would come to visit so I could take them all around Boston, to Lexington and Concord, down to Plymouth, out to Old Sturbridge Village (one of my favorite places), up to Salem and Marblehead and Gloucester.
Life and circumstances finally took me away from New England. Leaving there was one of the hardest things I've done, but I've been able to go back several times since. Each time, I know I've returned home.
The first time was when I visited New England. When I was 13, my family had the opportunity to spend a long weekend with friends at their home on Cape Cod. I immediately felt as if I were home. I cut my long nails, of which I had been so vain, so I could go clamming. I, the incredibly fussy eater, had lobster and clams on the beach with nary a thought. I discovered the deliciousness of Beach Plum Jelly.
From there my family and I went on to Boston and I knew someday I had to live there. And I did. When I had the opportunity for a year of school in Boston, I leapt at it and ended up living there for five wonderful years. I loved the history, architecture, tradition, the scenery from the rocky coasts to the old mountains, and the seasons--not always the weather, but the change of seasons and colors of each.
But it was not just Boston proper: From the Cape to Maine, from the coast to Western Mass, through New Hampshire and Vermont; every chance I had, I was on the road exploring. I loved when friends from New Jersey, where I grew up, would come to visit so I could take them all around Boston, to Lexington and Concord, down to Plymouth, out to Old Sturbridge Village (one of my favorite places), up to Salem and Marblehead and Gloucester.
Life and circumstances finally took me away from New England. Leaving there was one of the hardest things I've done, but I've been able to go back several times since. Each time, I know I've returned home.
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