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God bless America. 

Seriously. I cannot imagine living in another country––especially the three that I visited in May. I mean, Italy is great and all, but I think my 10-day EU vacay quickly revealed my love for, well…things. I’m shaking my head right now. I know how materialistic I must sound, but I don’t mean it that way, I promise. 

What I mean by that is I really love that America has clothes drying machines, and even in New York City, sidewalks that can withstand three people walking beside each other. It’s also wonderful that we never have to pay for water in restaurants. You know what I also love about America? Our food. 

I know–Italy is in the rearview mirror, and I’m talking about American food. 

Some of you want to kick me right now. I know how processed and dyed our food is, but man, 10 days on bread and pastries and portions the size of your fist will show you just how much you love a greasy burger with fries that have been baptized in salt. 

You can’t tell me America doesn’t have the best burgers, BBQ, and grilled cheeses in the world.

In light of the Fourth of July weekend, it occurred to me just how happy I am to be celebrating this country. Politics aside, there’s something we can all agree on, and I think it’s that we have it pretty great here in the foothills (or in my case, the Volunteer State). I just didn’t realize it until I was traveling by train through northern Italy and saw just how differently other countries do things. Don’t even get me started on their coffee again…

Sure, their scenery and beaches might be pretty, but in my little Southern opinion, there’s nothing more comforting than waking up on the Fourth of July and taking your coffee on the porch, wearing something festive, spending the day with people you love, and cooking a big meal on a grill that makes the air smell heavenly. 

Those random little American ways, like cookouts, hitting the lake, or getting sunburned by the pool, are all very homey. Now that I’m living in Tennessee, I’ll experience my first Nashville-style Independence Day. Talk about American! 

The Fourth very distinctly pulls my memories into a vegetable garden, either my grandpa’s or my parents’, where there’s red dirt on my feet and the smell of tomatoes on my hands. If I had to describe what home felt like, it’d be that memory right there, or a combination of them through my adolescence, on the Fourth of July. 

So not only has this year’s Independence Day reminded me of just how grateful I am to live in America, but it also reminds me of home—a place I’d never had to be reminded of until this year. So God bless those precious memories, and God bless the ones I’ll make this weekend in America’s most American city. 

Happy Fourth, everyone!