Leave it Fast

A personal essay by Kate Blatter

“Comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love” -Song of Solomon 2:5

Photo by Michele Blackwell on Unsplash

My favorite fruit to eat is an orange, but you’ll never hear me say that out loud. I was born and raised in the state that produces the most apples in the nation, so for emotional reasons apples will always be my favorite. Although it's probably strange to base your favorite fruit on emotional reasons rather than tangible, palatable ones, in a way I think I have the same relationship with apples that other people have with their state’s sports team. I picture someone showing up to work on a Monday morning and saying, “Did you know the Seattle Seahawks won yesterday??” and I hear echoes of myself proudly saying, “Did you know Washington State University created a new breed of apples??” as if anyone would care as much about Cosmic Crisp apples as someone whose roots are planted firmly in Washington soil. 

During one of our weekly grocery trips I witnessed a horrendous scene when my roommate—whom I thought I could trust—walked right up to the apple section and started tossing apples in a clear fruit bag without even glancing at the sign. “Woah woah woah, do you even know what type of apples those are?” I said, and her reply, “No. Does it matter?” nearly crushed my soul. Does it matter? Does it matter?? As the producer of over half of the nation’s apples, Washington is very loyal to this particular fruit, and even at parties or in church hallways we’ll start debating the pros and cons of each type of apple—something I almost expected to be a universal activity. 

If you ever find yourself in Washington and are itching to start a riot, just mention that your favorite apple is Red Delicious. Not only will you be unofficially banned from our state, but you’ll receive a lengthy lecture about how Red Delicious is so bland that it barely deserves to be called an apple, and the only reason for its popularity is its distinct shape and vivid red color. Trust me, it’s certainly entertaining, but if you’re hoping to make friends in Washington I’d recommend avoiding that entire conversation. 

After moving to Provo, Utah for school and discovering not only that people don’t have particularly strong opinions on apples, but most people just walk up and take the first ones they see, I realized Washington will always be my true home. I think everybody remains tied, in a way, to the state or states they grew up in, whether or not they want to admit it. Or maybe it’s just me who is silently holding onto the memories of a state that is 670 miles away, and that I only visit for a week or two at a time now. But even in those short visits I am reminded of the deep loyalty I have for Washington.

Beryl Markham said, “I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest you can” (West With the Night). Love your home, but leave it fast. I didn’t leave my home fast, even though at the time it felt like I did. After graduating high school people in my neighborhood would ask if I was going to move down to Provo early and start taking classes in the summer. I would laugh and tell them I was excited to start college, but not that excited. Eager to spend every minute I could revelling in my youth before entering the age of supposed adulthood, I reached the end of summer and sadly waved goodbye to the house I had grown up in for the past 18 years, only to drive 10 hours, then wave goodbye to my loving parents from the unfamiliar doorstep of my first Provo apartment. Love your home, but leave it fast. 

Photo by Simon Fitall on Unsplash

Romeo always seemed awfully suspicious to me. If he was as committed to Rosaline as he claimed to be, then how could he fall in love with Juliet? Maybe he was unreliable. Maybe he was flaky. Maybe he was the type of boy who is completely devoted to making you the happiest girl in the world… for a week or two. Drawing closer to the mountains, seeing them loom above me, I finally began to understand Romeo. I didn’t grow up near mountains, but it never bothered me because I had barely even seen them; I had nothing to miss. Sitting in that car, gazing up at those majestic monuments that confidently stretched all the way into the sky—that was one of the first moments I fell in love with Utah, before I had even officially stepped foot on Provo soil. Those mountains. “Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night” (Romeo and Juliet). After seeing what true mountains look like, I wasn’t sure I could ever go back to the land of miniscule-hills-we-call-mountains. Love your home, but leave it fast. 

Photo by Luismi Sánchez on Unsplash

In Utah, when people hear where I’m from they assume it’s always rainy. “Oh, you’re from Washington? Do you like all the rain?” I do like rain, but I’m not from that side of Washington. I like to tell people I’m from the dry side of the evergreen state. My side of the state doesn’t receive rain very often, but we have some wicked windstorms. Flooding isn’t something we worry about much, but if you’re going somewhere after a windstorm you might have to leave through the back door, because it’s possible your front door will be blocked by tumbleweeds. And be sure to keep an eye out for your trampoline; it could have been blown into one of the neighbor’s yards, into the street, or into a tree. 

One year we had a windstorm so strong it knocked the roof off our post office. The unofficial motto of the United States Postal Service is: “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds..." but a Washington windstorm can definitely put a damper in their schedules. Despite its downsides, whenever people ask me questions about my home in Washington, even ones that point out our flaws, I can’t help but smile. Love your home, but leave it fast. 

After finishing my freshman year of college, I returned to Washington for the summer, mistakenly believing my hometown would be exactly the same as when I left it eight months previously. Besides the ruins of a building where my favorite gas station used to be, a couple new families who moved into the neighborhood, and rumors that we were getting our first Chick-Fil-A soon, the entire atmosphere of the city felt different. Convinced the superficial changes made to my city were the reason it felt so askew, I didn’t realize at the time that my city didn’t change… I did. 

I should have been happier. I was happy. But I would slip up sometimes while talking to my friends and family, especially when they would ask about my future plans. I’d answer, “School starts on the 3rd of September, so I’ll probably drive home on the 30th of August.” After a pause, I would hear, “Aren’t you already home?” The answer is yes. And no. The answer is I don’t know if I have two homes now or zero homes, but I do know that I love them both. I know that Utah will never measure up to all the childhood memories I have in Washington. I know that Washington doesn’t offer me the growth I need at this point in my life. I know that prolonging the act of separation only prolongs the pain. Love your home, but leave it fast. 

Photo by adrian on Unsplash

In stark contrast to the summer after my senior year of high school, by the end of the summer after my freshman year of college I was so ready to head back to Utah that I would make lists of all the things I needed to pack. Actually the lists started in June, the stockpiling of essentials—toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, shampoo, conditioner, etc.—started in July, and by the time August rolled around I had already started making plans for activities to do once I was back in Provo. But on departure day, the day I had been waiting four months for… I froze. 

Even after wanting to leave for so long, I wasn’t sure I could do it. Abandoning Washington was a clear betrayal, and my betrayal was made even worse by my eagerness. At that moment I felt so stuck between Washington and Utah I wasn’t sure I would ever feel completely at home in either one. Beryl Markham was right. “If you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest you can.” Going back and forth, bouncing from one to another, splitting your time and your priorities—that’s how you end up in limbo, trying to decide which state to give your heart to, which state to give your presence to, and whether or not it’s possible to give them to two different places. 

Right now I am in Provo, and I’m trying to take Markham’s advice. Love your home, but leave it fast. When I’m in Washington I miss my friends. When I’m in Utah I miss my family. When I’m in Washington I miss projector movie nights with my roommates. When I’m in Utah I miss Jeopardy nights on my favorite couch. No place will ever have everything, but that’s okay, because I’m choosing to believe that I have two homes now, rather than zero. And someday I’ll probably move to another state and fall in love with aspects of that future place, which means I’ll have three homes. Some people struggle to find even one home to love, so I should count myself lucky that I am torn between a love for multiple places. 

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

It’s possible Romeo wasn’t as inconsistent as I might have believed; maybe he was just lucky enough to find true love more than once, the same way I did. For now, I’m very happy to call Provo my home. But sometimes—as ridiculous as it may sound—in the midst of all the game nights, movie nights, and road trips, sometimes I just want to have one simple conversation about apple preferences. 



Photo credits: Photo by Michele Blackwell on Unsplash; Photo by Simon Fitall on Unsplash; Photo by Luismi Sánchez on Unsplash; Photo by adrian on Unsplash; Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash