I was asked recently what I miss the most about home.

Apart from the obvious things like my friends and family, I miss the familiarity.

I miss knowing the street names and the best place to pick up coffee and the route to take for a day full of errands. I miss the pointless only-going-for-emotional-support trips to target.

More than that, it’s the Saturday morning market trips with the girls and the early morning rises for a hike up table rock. I miss the late night drives to clear the head or the ventures out for more emotional-support-little-treats.

I miss the countdown to the fair and the annual visit that is all too hot, sweaty, dusty, and expensive after eating my way through the vendors. Loaded fries. Snow cone. Ice cream potato. Prickly pear lemonade from Pronto pup. All while dodging ex classmates and familiar faces along the way. Did I mention the sweat?

I miss the Boise balloon classic that starts with another early rise and the first pumpkin flavored drink of the season. It’s fighting the crowds and never remembering where the best place to park is all to watch balloons fill the sky surrounded by thousands of other people.

It’s the pumpkin patches and the Christmas light shows and a thanksgiving dinner sometime in between.

It’s swinging by their house to say hello, drop something off, or to simply hangout. No heavily scheduled plans or rushed visits with an impending flight time in the near future.

I miss the foothills, the protection and comfort they seem to bring

When you grow up with places and things that feel as much a part of you as the heart that beats in your chest – it’s hard not to miss them.