My car has over 106,000 miles on it, nearly each and every one of them driven with myself at the wheel. Some of what I pass is familiar, and much is brand new. There are rolling green hills in North Carolina that could pass as a view from Ireland. There is farmland in Pennsylvania that could be the inspiration for a painter’s masterpiece. And there are sunsets in Nebraska that couldn’t be more beautiful, even if they were set over the Italian waters of Venice.
When I hear of people who grew up in strange and exotic places like Key West, or Hawaii, I wonder what amazing things they've seen and experienced. What unique stories they must have to tell. They must really have special lives unlike any other.
During my travels, I've realized that it’s not just the pictures on postcards that are magical. I know of a place called the Russian Bottom in Lincoln, NE, where the majestic blare of a railroad train horn brings unmatched awe and wonder to little boys on a daily basis. I once heard of an ordinary city park that spurred the imagination of three little girls, and bonded them together for life. I saw a grassy hill that children rolled down with delight and once at the bottom, they tasted the sweet drops from the growing honey suckles flowers. I even heard of a buffalo statue that was the secret place of mischief for some young brothers.
So when I pass a beautiful large house, complete with a pond and horse stables, I may wonder for a moment, “What an amazing life,” but I know for a lifetime what unique wonders I’ve seen, that they will never know.