Where the Heart Is

I was raised in Middle-of-Nowhere Minnesota
By a big city mother and
A redneck father.
Mama grew up on the outskirts of Minnapolis;
Daddy was born in Arkansas
Raised in Texas
And spent an awful lot of time in Tennessee.

And me?
Well, I must have gotten
More of that redneck blood than I thought.
Because even though I grew up
Craving big cities;
Even though I took that road trip to L.A.
The very first chance I got;
Even though you could always see
Those New York lights in my eyes
And hear its constant buzz in my ears--

Even though I'm a Minnesota girl
Through and through--

When I think of home,
I still think of an old house in Arkansas
With a big porch and an open field;
The sunset resting right on top
Of the old broken wooden fence;
Drinking a tall glass of
Sweet tea.

There are some memories you just don't forget--

Like summer days on the dirt roads
That run through the property
Great Grandma and Grampa King used to own;

Like weekends on Aunt Sarah's farm
With those big old dogs that
Never did learn to settle down;

Like unexpected evenings on the outskirts of Memphis
Because Aunt Diane, she knows southern hospitality
And "Baby, you're always welcome here."

They say home is where the heart is.
If that were true, my home should be
In Ireland
Or Italy
Or a million other places
That I've never even seen.
And my real home--
Well that's in Middle-of-Nowhere Minnesota.
Mostly.

But the one place where the paths
Of my heart
And of what I truly call "home"
Finally intersect

Is at an old house in Arkansas
With a big porch and an open field;
The sunset resting on top
Of the old broken wooden fence;
Drinking a tall glass of
Sweet tea.