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Buckeye Pie

In the past six years, I've lived in 5 different cities, on the East Coast and the West Coast and places in-between. This nomadic lifestyle becomes a sort of badge of honor for people who go to a college where co-op is mandatory. As someone who was born and raised in one place, this constant moving was a defining bit of my college experience. It helped me learn to adapt, make a house (or somewhat shoddy temporary apartment) into a home, and line up my priorities. It wasn't all sunshiny; I learned firsthand (and more than once) that sometimes bad things happen when you're away from home. But overall, I thought I had the moving thing figured out.

About two and a half months ago, I moved 895 miles away from home for real. As in, I'm planning to be here for awhile. I'm happy here, have a nice little apartment and get to work with amazing people who I admire every single day. But moving this time was a little different, and in ways I didn't anticipate.

Last Saturday I went to a May Day party (yep, May Day in June = even more to love :)) It was a pot-luck sort of shindig, so I brought a blueberry peach pie. When it came time to put the desserts out, a friend came over and said, "I need to introduce you to someone who knows a buckeye pie when she sees it." With a humongous smile on my face, I met a fellow Ohio-ian who swears she could see my origins through that pie. All things pie have been intriguing for awhile now, but what I could not have predicted was the warm pride I felt when someone identified me by my home state.