Growing up, I hated living in Lancaster County. My cousin’s parents chose Chicago, Las Vegas, Melbourne, Rome and other fun cities to emigrate to, and for some strange reason mine chose Lancaster, Pennsylvania or better known to outsiders as Amish Country.

I went to a mid-sized high school where everyone knew everyone, and if they didn’t know them personally, then they probably went to church together. We, however, went to the Orthodox church 45 minutes away. In elementary school, I was the odd kid out, the only one with dark hair and thick eyebrows and my only dream was to one day leave. When we would go to visit my cousins they would ask what we do for fun and the truth was there was nothing to do for fun in Lancaster county.

The years passed, graduation came, and my dream of leaving finally came true. I was able to live in a big city, but suddenly I missed the quiet little streets of Lancaster county. I missed being able to leave my car doors unlocked with no fear of anyone breaking in. I missed being able to drive to the Amish house down the road to buy fresh strawberries, and I even missed the slow Sunday buggy traffic.

When I left, I realized that over the years I became part of this tight knit community and that even though I wasn’t exactly like the rest, I somehow belonged and this little quiet town was home. I learned that the grass is always greener on the other side and even though the city will always feel more like home, the green pastures and little farm stands will always be home. Lancaster County may not be Rome or Chicago but it will always have a special place in my heart.