Bigger, Better, Fuller

To me it's like the difference between goose liver pate and Spam. Gruyere cheese and toejam.

North Dakota is/was a prairie. Farm land, flatness and maddening wind. Taxes are low, cost of living is low, government programs are low, the people are gargantuan. Good 'ol farm stock here. The men are taller, the women are taller - and heftier. Forty percent of married African American men in this region are married to Caucasian women. The brothas typically like 'em healthy - and boy are they in luck out here. I think I have met 1 person who has Italian in their lineage, and every time I mention my heritage to a Fargoan they tell me about their favorite Italian restaurant (pronounced Eye-Talian) (shiver). Thank you, no, I'll stick to mine and my mother's cooking. Lest my great-grandmother Carmela roll over in her grave.
So I went home to Jersey. I hadn't been there since I was 7 months pregnant with The Gurl. Living in the prairie, you forget about trees. I like me some trees. I remember my Sophomore year High School biology project. We had to collect something like 50 different leaves and Contact paper them to manila. We only had the leaf and tree descriptions. It was hard. That particular Bio teacher had been assigning that very project for something like 15 years and could spot a leaf from a previous year's assignment like nothing. I remember that is when I fell in love with Japanese Maples. Man are they something in the Fall.
That's another thing, there's hardly a fall here. It's sortof like two weeks of winter cracking it's knuckles and stretching, and that's it.
Anyway, the trees. They're bigger and fuller out there. I've heard tell here that the City of Fargo does not allow the trees to grow past a certain height in fear of them being knocked into buildings by the fierce winds and frequent tornadoes. Way to cull beauty.
The grass is softer in Jersey. Seriously. New Jersey doesn't need Terminator grass that will last through 30 below temperatures. Florida was like that. Razor grass. Ech.
They make food there. Not just food, cuisine. There's nothing like a Jewish deli, a Greek pizza place, and a good Italian market to keep you going.
So the plan is: for the next 3-4 years I bust my ass at NDSU and get a degree that would be WAY more expensive elsewhere, The Ex gets enough job security to transfer, I try not to kill these people, and we load up the trucks and move to Jer-sey. New Jersey, that is. Swimming pools, good food, real people, culture, crappy traffic, and all the comforts of home I have come to miss. Were it not for joint custody and Baby Daddy Drama, my ass would already be packin.
I need to go back home. I need to go back to the place I belong. I belong with people who love me. There are several members of my huge family, that aren't judgemental Catholic assholes, and that I haven't seen since I was a pre-teen. I have second and third cousins who are dying to meet my children. I have people who want to tell my kids about their lineage. You have not lived life until you have sat at a dinner table so long you need 4 separate main course dishes to cover the length of people. I have family that want to bring me back into the fold and make me feel proud again of where I come from and of the richness in my veins. I went to a fantastic High School. My mom went there, and maybe one day my children will walk those halls. I may get to show Sawyer the very toilet my brother blew up with explosives. Ahhh, pride.