Big wheels keep on turning
Carry me home to see my kin
Singing songs about the Southland
I miss Alabamy once again
And I think its a sin, yes
Well I heard mister Young sing about her
Well, I heard ole Neil put her down
Well, I hope Neil Young will remember
A Southern man don't need him around anyhow
Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet Home Alabama
Lord, I'm coming home to you *
I am in no way Southern, but I've always loved this song, as much for the tune, which is seriously kicky, as for the obvious love of home it expresses.
I've written before that I don't feel like I have a home town, in the sense that there's one place where my roots are. My heart is split between New Jersey and California. I have both fond, and not-so-fond memories of Colorado. I appreciate South Dakota more now that I do not live there, than when I did.
So, songs like this both resonate with me – because there's a part of me that yearns for that sort of place-based identity, and puzzles me, because it's such a foreign feeling.
The front porch I spend the most time relaxing on, is the one inside my head.
*”Sweet Home Alabama,” Lynyrd Skynyrd