I am from homemade play dough and grated crayon art at the counter and miles on bicycles riding over dusty roads. I am from horse barns, riding boots and family dogs.
I am from open beam ceilings, palm trees and redwood decks, putting splinters into bare feet and black fingertips from peeling walnuts.
I am from the grape vines and watermelon plants, the sweet summer taste dripping from your chin freshly picked in the field and filling containers awaiting pick-up.
I am from ham loaf at Easter and big family holidays of the Langes and from cinnamon rolls for Christmas and the laughing aunts of the Coffelts.
I am from Thanksgiving trips in the trailer, frosty mornings with Dad at the picnic table and long walks and talks with Mom.
From a place where I was told could be anything I wanted to be and a place where although I am a girl I joke that I am the oldest son.
I am from MYF meetings, lock-ins and lip-syncs; good wholesome fun with just a sprinkle of religion.
I’m from Lodi, by way of Germany, Norway and England, 100 acres of vineyard, miles country roads, homegrown veggies and fresh peaches from the tree.
From learning to drive on a tractor, working in the vineyard as a teenager, swimming all summer with my cousins and putting miles on the ATV sitting with my sister.
I am from a farmer father, a do everything mother, a determined little sister, grandparents near and far, bunches of aunts and uncles and dozens of cousins. I am from the country, where the fall brings crisp leaves and grapes to be harvested.