What I love about America

New Mexico 007

We all like to criticize America, or at least most of us do. The government doesn’t run things the way we would. We don’t like what our elected officials do once they’re elected. We want them to bring down the national debt, improve education, end all the wars, stop spending our grandchildren’s money, cut back on spending, do a better job on things we care about, but that’s not what we get. We get more spending and less freedom. And people in other parts of the world say nasty things about Americans and we start to think what kind of a country is this?

And that’s why I like to remind myself of what I love about America.

What I love about America is French fries. Hotdogs at games.
I love microbrew made in Oregon. Vermont maple syrup.
Enchiladas in Texas. Sushi in California. Columbian Coffee in Portland.
Light on winter snow in the Rockies. The shine of the Mississippi
As you lean over a bank . Remember Hank Williams and Huck Finn.
I love Southern okra and cobblers in Richmond with hard cider.
I love wet woods in New Hampshire, ferns growing thick.
I love the arroyos of Arizona, the cacti dark and huge against orange sky.
I love the way American children think they can do anything and they can.
I love watching trucks haul across middle states, wide as a belly.
Sky going on forever, the machinery that is America.
I love the smell of horses in Wyoming, bald eagles circling docks in Homer, Alaska .
They bring in fish as big as a barn, halibut and salmon.
I love the smell of ocean in Maine. The wide marshes of South Carolina.
America tastes like sky, tastes like nobody’s walls.
Tastes like everybody’s food made ours.
Reminds me of Lincoln who makes me proud.
Reminds me of being in France. A teenager sick to death of American politics.
Dancing in a club with all those hairy French girls. Ladyscaping unknown to them.
“Born in the USA,” rolled over the speakers. Like the voice of my country.
I missed Arizona, the margaritas and tacos. The way Americans like to spice and sugar them.
I missed my lady scaped girls, my bathed boys,
I returned the next day with French chocolate in my pocket.
Because being somewhere else reminds you of what you love about here.

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Published in: on November 2, 2013 at 2:00 pm  Comments (1)  
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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. You nailed it Kate!

    – I just love driving my old red Suburban down roads as straight as my 3rd grade wooden ruler past seas of rippling growing waving green Montanan corn – Big Sky Country – you said it!!


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