Returning to my redneck roots

It's always fun to return to the town you grew up in - especially if you hail from Fulton, New York, aka "The City with a Future," population 12,000 give or take 5,000. I have lived in Southern California for almost as many years as I did in Fulton. At times I could equate visiting Central New York to travelling in a foreign country - it's like the United States only different.... But I find it interesting how easy it is to fall into the rythym of life in upstate and quickly become "Cathy," or rather an acsented trill "Caaa-thee," once again.

Years ago I proudly brought my Southern California-born, ex-boyfriend Paul home for show. The extended family gathered for dinner including my cousin and his 4-year old son. A cute kid: Friendly and personable. I bent down and teased him, "Why is there chocolate on your shirt?" He slowly lowered his gaze to the stain, paused and cooly lifted his head stating, "I had a dough-nut; I hate frickin' dough-nuts." I'll never forget the look on Paul's face and to this day - 12 years later - my friends quote it like it was a line from the movie Blazing Saddles.

I like going 'home.' I miss the familiarity of knowing a place so intimately. Reliving my personal history - good and bad. Like where I made out with Teddie Webster for the first time or smoked menthals before social studies.

This last time my sister Anna joined me for the visit 'home.' She had arranged for us to take a day trip to the hunting camp my Dad had been a member of for 50 years. It is in the northern territory of New York state in a roadless region west of the Adironacks. Once there, we rode miles of dirt road on old mountain bikes and caught up on each others lives - I hadn't seen her in over a year. I made her ride through every puddle until we were filthy from the waist down and shared the wisdom my friends had given me when descending a steep grade, "Box back, box back." After lunch we traded up to a pair of 4-wheel drive Polaris quads. I was hesitant, personally preferring self-propelled over motorized travel. I admit, it was fun and probably a sport I would have pursued had I not moved west at 22.

While we were there we rediscovered a park I had visited once when I was 12 - Green Lakes State Park. We decided to hike the trail that traced the shores of the two lakes. It was beautiful - broad paths lined with trees and lush vegetation where numerous runners took advantage of the shaded trail. As Anna and I walked ahead of my Dad and her husband I confided in her that I really could envision living on the East coast if I had daily access to a place like this. But truthfully the pull of 'home' was fleeting. I like the East Coast but I hate frickin' win-ter.