“My life was being raised in a small town on a farm, and I guess when I was ready to rediscover who I was again, it was like it called me back home,” said M. We turned the corner where the General Store sat. The chalkboard announcing the Farmer’s Market This Saturday. Sunlight was streaming through the giant trees that lined the hilly streets, dancing through the leaves. You felt the history of this town everywhere you looked, it just felt like it had been there since the beginning of our country. The little towns of Massachusetts just outside Concord are small, and soft and gentle, but with a strength and fierce determination, much like M herself.
“This town feels like you,” I said, “You belong here.”
She pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head, hair pulled up in that blonde, messy bun and smiled her secret little smile, the one where she knows people are underestimating her but her eyes looked the happiest I had ever seen them in our years of friendship. “It called me home,” she repeated.
We drove past the library, and down another rolling hill, pulling up to the beach. It was early morning, and the skies were turning from grey to blue with light puffs of clouds. The stillness of the water, the purity of it all, the cold sand between the toes as you walk down to the lake. We breathed it all in, and I realized that this was a moment of just being in the moment. What we always talk about travel blogs: don’t just go to see, go to experience. Let the travels take you, and change you. These little towns of New England took me in, cradled me and has touched my heart forever.