Do you love where you live?

A double-decker question on the Fourth of July: Do you love where you live?

Some never leave the place they began. Tenacious roots grow deep. They know and are known. They don't want a thing more. Others roam as far as they can. Their desire for leg room, for shuffling the cards, for other biographies is irresistible.

I know people raised in flat, open country who feel claustrophobic in the woods and mountains. Those brought up by the sea can't breathe easy unless the air is salted. Desert dwellers count on waking to blazing sun seven days a week. Arctic inhabitants know how to huddle patiently beneath the frosty dark.

City dwellers freak out over country quiet — or worse yet, strange sounds — an owl hooting, a deer huffing, coyotes yipping, a bullfrogs's deep rumble. They want horns honking and street musicians and all night delis and lots of lights in the windows. The moon casting forest shadows is a foreign thing. A yard light's small glow in the vast prairie brings no comfort.

Living holds small town appeal for those who call Priest River home. Closer to country vibes than city. A city is a place to visit — and for some, a place to avoid. I joked once with a granddaughter as we drove around town on errands — “Bank, five minutes. Post office, five minutes. Grocery store, five minutes. Library, five minutes. Pharmacy, five minutes.” We are the five minute, one stoplight town.

It's not blinking red holding us up — this time of year it's longer and longer traffic lines. The city lovers flipping the table — wanting to visit the country. Others are in need of a complete makeover — a change of residence, a change of state. And that's the beauty of the larger map. The double-decker part. In the United States of America we are free to move about.

We have 50 choices. And if one doesn't meet the dream — or reality dulls it — then there are forty-nine other places to try. Easier for some than others. This has to be acknowledged. But the fact is, the USA is a country where individual decisions — as basic as where I'd like to live — abound like Fourth of July corn on the cob, with plenty of butter slathered on.

Freedom is choices. It is the ground on which I stand. Wherever I choose to stand that ground.