Northern Indiana is full of trees. Full. There are trees everywhere you look. Lots of them, and all different kinds. Oak, maple, ash, cherry, gum, dogwood, cottonwood, the list goes on. If it’s a tree, it’s probably here.

My husband and I grew up here. For 22 years, I didn’t bat an eye at all these trees. They were–quite literally—part of the scenery. Now, though, things are different. After living in states where trees aren’t as varied, or abundant, we are always agog at the trees when we return.

For the last six weeks, my husband, Derek and I have been living in our hometown. For the first time in 20 years, I’ve been in Elkhart, IN to enjoy autumn. And although I’m “from around here,” it’s as though I’m seeing this place for the first time.

I’ve explored attractions we typically skip on shorter trips, gone on walks, and eaten copious dinners with extended family. Through it all, I can’t help but wonder what someone “not from around here” might write about this corner of the world. So, today I’m doing just that.

I’ve written this column for nearly two years. I’ve poked fun at hotdishes, The Lake, and saying, “Oh, fer cute.” A mountain could be made from the words I’ve written pondering life in Hotdish Land.

In the spirit of She’s Not From Around Here, I’m going to turn it around. Today, I’ll tell you a few of the odd things that are incredibly commonplace where I do come from.

Let start with the trees. It’s literally been decades since I even thought about what happens to all those leaves.
They’re burned.

From the minute they start falling until snow covers the ground, the scent of burning leaves lingers in the air. People burn their leaves in the country. People burn their leaves in subdivisions. Bagging is a drag. Just light them on fire.

Derek and I have been shocked at all the burning. One day, I went running through a neighborhood and literally had to dodge piles of ash on the edge of the road. Leaves are raked to the edge of the road and smoldered into oblivion. I can’t believe I never noticed this before—now I can’t unsee it. Is this normal where you come from?

Now, let’s move on to Notre Dame. Everyone is a Notre Dame fan. We love the campus, we love the teams. We own the merchandise to prove it. I remember taking an annual trip to the campus bookstore to browse the new shirt designs. My family is completely uninvested in sports of all kinds (except the Olympics, of course)—however there are definitely Nortre Dame shirts and souvenirs in the house.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not your alma mater. It doesn’t matter if you aren’t Catholic, or Irish, or care about football. If you’re here, you like Notre Dame. Which has me thinking, we should all invest in a little more Beaver-wear.
I’ll round it out with some rapid-fire roasting.

Instead of blaming the cold on the wind, we say, “It’s a damp cold.” Instead of lefse, we rave about Amish noodles. An open-face sandwich is roast beef, mashed potatoes, and gravy stacked on top of white bread. It has nothing to do with Cheez-Whiz (looking at you Minot.)

“The Lake” means Lake Michigan, we go there all the time, but no one camps all summer. We say, “whole nother” in casual conversation. Everyone knows someone who wears shorts year-round. Hotdishes are casseroles, “playing cards” means “playing euchre,” having an acre is pretty standard, and complaining about the humidity is akin to bemoaning sub-zero temps.

It’s weird, worth poking fun at, and wonderful. I love this place. Being here has reminded me that we’re all a little weird—and life is more fun when we take note of the quirks, and goodness that set each of our communities apart. Not to place one above another, but to appreciate the beauty of American diversity, of humanity and our ability to be the same, and so different all at once.

What’s something that is unique to where you’re from? I’d love to hear from you. Connect with me on Instagram (@amy_allender), Facebook (@amyallender.com) or amyallender.com.