The Land

We know we belong to the land,

And the land we belong to is grand!

--"Oklahoma!", Oscar Hammerstein II

Recently I went shopping in the Plaza District to buy end-of-year gifts for my kids' teachers. I wanted to find something unique, and I remembered browsing DNA Galleries a few months ago and noticing a lot of cool art, accessories, and decor. This time I looked around a bit and found a candle ("Old Books" fragrance: appropriate, no?) for one teacher and some bath salts (also appropriate) for another, both made locally. 

But then some other items caught my eye: Oklahoma City-themed gifts. There were magnets, prints, and throw pillows featuring photos of the city's historic landmarks and downtown. As I picked up a pillow, the woman working at the counter said, "Aren't those great? We just got those in." I responded, "Well, we're moving away soon, so I'm feeling sort of nostalgic about the city!" I bought the pillow.

Oklahoma City is where I'm from. I was away for a while, but I've spent the past year and a half back here. When I think about moving away again, I think about place and wonder how strong our connection is to it, whether or how place shapes our identity.

A few weeks ago, I watched August: Osage County, a film written by an Oklahoman (Tracy Letts) and set in Oklahoma, near Tulsa, where I also used to live. Then I read the Lacuna, by Barbara Kingsolver, which has no Oklahoma ties, but it explores the theme of place and how it shapes and defines a person. I also regularly watch and read (and cook!) the Pioneer Woman, and I can't help feeling pride that a product of my home state could achieve such success on television, in print, and online--and that she puts the Oklahoma plains on display in such a beautiful way for the world to see. Even though I'm not from the country, I feel a connection to her and the land she loves and shares in her work.

So what happens when you leave your land? Am I abandoning something? If not, why do I feel--along with excitement to move to a big, busy, important city like Washington--sadness to leave this city and this state? The connection I have to Oklahoma has no scientific or biological basis; it's not like God fashioned me from Okie soil. So what is it? Just memories and nostalgia?

I think the answer to those questions is something that can't quite be put into words. I've lived in Oklahoma City, Shawnee, and Norman (all in OK); Mozambique; Tulsa; and Washington, DC. I know their neighborhoods, their streets, their restaurants, their historic sites, their churches, their parks, their shopping districts, their concert venues (okay, maybe Mozambique doesn't offer so many of those). That knowledge, and the experiences I've had in those places, constructs me, and it binds them to me with a deep affection wherever I go. But the strongest tie is with Oklahoma, my birthplace, the setting for all but a few of my thirty-eight years.

So I will go to Washington again, again taking the red dirt of the Oklahoma land with me, not only on my feet but in my heart. I'll take Braum's, Eischen's, and Cattlemen's. I'll take the Paseo, the Brady District, and Cain's. I'll take Woolaroc, Mount Scott, Lake Overholser, and Falls Creek. I'll take the Trail of Tears, the land run, the Greenwood riots, and the oil boom. And thankfully, I won't have to leave Pioneer Woman behind!

Whether or not I can explain it, I believe this place, this land, is a part of me. As I go about my days in Washington, the scene on my pillow will whisper to me: Oklahoma. I'll always belong to the land--and long for it as home.