Unboxed.

Libbylane

There’s this cool moment when the corn stalks first appear, about 40 miles south of Chicago on I-55.

This is a breathing moment for me. The skyscrapers shrink small in my rearview before finally evaporating into the ether.

Big breath.

It’s not that I can’t find my breath in the city. After 20+ years of living in Chicago, I’ve found a deep sense of beauty, peace and quiet, all while being surrounded by sirens, airplanes that dot the flight path to O’Hare directly above our condo and the soft, neon hum of streetlights at night.

When mom comes to visit, she sometimes says, “I just hope everyone’s alright,” when she hears sirens come screaming down the street. Such a beautiful, genuine response. When you hear a siren in the country, news travels quickly about who it’s coming for and why. It’s most likely someone who you have a personal connection with. In small towns, we are all connected, for better or worse.

Living in Chicago I’m so immune to the sounds of sirens I usually don’t think twice about them. Lately, though, I find myself pausing and – inspired by mom – just hoping everyone’s alright.

It’s going to be a star-spangled weekend in Rushville, Illinois, population 3,300. I’m headed home to Forgottonia to celebrate our country’s independence with friends and family, even though ‘Merica isn’t feeling too generous in doling out independence these days, is she? I sometimes get asked what it feels like to go home to my small, rural town as, you know, a lesbian. To that I say, “What do you mean lesbian?” Then after making the person feel uncomfortable for a few seconds (like I do) I laugh to break the tension and explain that it feels like anywhere else I go in this world as a lesbian. It feels like Libby. Living my life. Going somewhere. Unboxed.

Going home feels like taking a spin through the backward DQ drive-thru for a Chocolate Dipped Cone. Losing myself to my memories on the backroads gravel for hours with the windows down and the corn hugging both sides of the car. Traversing “3 Creeks” (or cricks, interchangeably) down in Scab Hollow, over to Rabbit Run Road, down to Browning to pay homage to the muddy Illinois river and the old Browning School where mom used to teach when I was little. Why were the bees and hornets always so bad down there?! And I still have third-degree burns from that metal slide.

Going home feels like a typical Saturday morning in the 80’s with my standard order from Roger’s Bakery: 1 whipped cream-filled, 1 pink-frosted cake, carton of chocolate milk. Gummie Bears bouncin’ here and there and everywhere on TV.

Going home feels like sippin’ Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill on a Saturday night in the 90’s with my crew while the Counting Crows sing about Sullivan Street. Adam Duritz knows the power of taking the way home. Cool mist rolling in and hovering above the beans. The sweet smell of earthy dew hanging thick in the air. And then Sunday morning church with farmers passing the offering plates in their best Wranglers. Every hymn is a country song. Every country song is a hymn.

This weekend going home will feel like Martina McBride letting freedom ring on my “Country Roadhouse” playlist as I barrel south on I-55. And yes, Martina, I’m literally going to take myself down to the fair in town on Independence Day for a corn dog, lemonade shake-up and a trip through the Merchant’s Building to view prize-winning vegetables, textiles and crafts.

Going home is where the distance between the dirt and the stars is filled by rows of bright green stalks of corn that have kept silent watch over our people for thousands of years. Nowhere and everywhere, all in the same breath. Unboxed.

21 thoughts on “Unboxed.”

  1. Oh my! Wonderful!!!
    “Going home feels like sippin’ Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill on a Saturday night in the 90’s with my crew while the Counting Crows sing about Sullivan Street. Adam Duritz knows the power of taking the way home. ” I heart you!!!!

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  2. As someone who has moved away 40 years age I enjoyed reading this, especially the reference to ‘crick’. I’m always being corrected when I say it. Some things never leave you.

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  5. I love your thoughts and how you tell the story. I have similar feelings about Rushville. Some of my fondest childhood memories are about my times there.

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  7. This was such a well written piece about small town living anywhere, It brought back so many memories of 4th of July in Arthur & Sullivan celebrating Jenni’s birthday. Having lunch at Grandma & Grandpa’s house, then lighting sparklers with all you kids at night. Fun times!!

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  8. I have tears in my eyes, happy, memory tears. The sights, smells, feels …all so familiar! Thank you! Enjoy your time back home. I hope you don’t hear any sirens! 😊

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  9. Libby,

    This one is my favorite! It brings back such happy memories of growing up in Schuyler County and Brooklyn, Illinois. You described everything perfectly. It’s like a cool hug on a warm summer night. When anyone reads this I think they can surely feel the heartstrings of home. I do! Thank you!

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    1. Thank you so much! It’s awesome to hear how my writing impacts other people and brings back such special memories. Thank you for sharing your feelings!

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  10. Heaven fell on herself tonight
    As the devil met me in the wishing well
    And in that moment I found myself knowing
    That in the end it’s just about you and me
    Nothing smaller or larger
    Though dragons are good for the soul
    Nothing can be better than baring yourself for another
    Open for scrutiny, ridicule, and indulgence
    Therein lies the balls, and the mind, and the heart
    As fear is truly the mind killer
    When nothing is left
    Everything is gained
    You see I wish I was a poet
    But I know as we go round and round
    Though endings are never ever happy
    It’s the happy moments along the way
    That in the end
    Make it okay

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