This past weekend I made a trip to a little place I like to call home. It's actually quite a large place, but the number of people there have kept it a "small town," if you will. The name is Habersham--also known as "The Sham," Home of the Raiders, and the middle of nowhere, according to some. Habersham is the place you hated when you were 16 and had just gotten your driver's license and wanted to drive everywhere in the world and the only place you had to drive to was...Wal-Mart. It's also the place you become more and more grateful for as time goes by. Some might argue with me, but Habersham is the perfect place to grow up. It's beautiful, filled with mountains and woods and lakes (more like large ponds) and pastures for days. It's the place where everyone still knows [almost] everyone, the place where Friday night plans will always be to go to the high school football game, and the place where good manners are still expected (thank goodness). When I go back to Habersham from school, I always know I'm going home. I'm so glad I don't go home to a city full of honking cars driven by stressed out, brake-slamming, bird-shooting people; I go home to faces I know, stars in the sky and a view of the mountains from my back porch that goes on for days. To put it simply, I couldn't be more thankful I call that place home.
So, until the next time I make that trip into northeast Georgia, I'll miss you, Home Sweet Habersham.