Some of the people I work with were born here. They went to school here, and if they left, they soon came back. They can't imagine living anywhere else. Their roots are deep in this place.
I don't know what that's like. I've lived a lot of places, from Alaska to Hawaii and in between. I've liked most of them, even loved some, but it was always easy to pack up and move on. Back then you had to chase the jobs, so I got used to leaving. My roots, like some trees', are shallow.
My friend B. was talking about where she wanted to move when her fire career was over. She thinks Driggs, Idaho, would be nice. But she doesn't know, either. Maybe she will stay.
I like where I live well enough, although I wish some things were different (more sun in the winter would be nice, maybe a few less bears).
Walking through the forest, you can't always tell which trees have deep roots and which have shallow ones. They're all making the best of where their pine cone or acorn or seed landed, reaching up toward the sun. Maybe that's the secret: it's not so much the place, but what you make of it.
This woman says it better than I can. Sing it, Alice: