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This is a similar, but expanded, post from my last one. More anecdotes from the wholesome midwest to come!

I recently embarked on a pilgrimage to my homeland of Indiana, not by Conestoga wagon like my ancestors (who include the great explorer Daniel Boone), but by Dodge Grand Caravan across the wilds of upstate New York and through Ohio, the most unremarkable state in the union.

Unlike days of yore when families and friends traveled in packs, I brought my children alone and somehow survived 20 hours of road travel and an overnight stay in a well-appointed Courtyard by Marriott the primitive way, without DVD player or hand-held electronic devices. But it is important to teach children of their roots, and what better way than a couple of weeks with relatives in another culture to help them learn.

“It’s so green here. And so much open space,” remarked my daughter, age 8. “It’s kind of creepy. Anything could just jump out of that cornfield at you.”

Now, I have never thought of Indiana as a creepy place. I grew up on a farm, complete with a 200-acre cornfield, where we would play Children of the Corn for hours, and hide from adult intervention. When I come back, I feel like my lungs can expand and I morph into a completely different person – the kids noticed this as well. “You’re so nice here, Mommy,” they say. “Can we have Indiana Mommy back home?”

I told them I will try, but it’s unlikely. While I love life in New England, with its sweet hamlets, rich history and the ocean, it’s a wholly different lifestyle – fast-paced and get-ahead quick – that I have to accustom myself to every time I leave and come back.

Yes, Indiana is mostly known for a car race (the Indy 500); farms; obese people in Spandex; and Michael Jackson. But the people are lovely. No one there cares if you were born there – they’re just glad you came by. The cashiers are friendly, and are genuine in their concern about your well-being. I am always surprised to find myself exchanging pleasantries with a check-out lady instead of hearing way too much information as she complains to the bag boy about her boyfriend, which seems to be the norm at the Stop and Shop.

People slow down and wave you in during rush hour on the highway. Roads are well-maintained; beautifully manicured parks and pools abound. There is sunshine galore and smiles wherever you look. It’s no wonder I always want to move back while we’re there. I am nicer, slower and more pleasant to be around in the Midwest, in part because people in Indiana do not cringe when I start to talk – there is a healthy respect for differing opinion decidedly not present in New England.

This is not to knock the life I have led in Amesbury for the last 10 years. I love the winding old roads, and the proximity to tax-free New Hampshire. The beaches are the best, and I cannot imagine going through life without a Newburyport just across a tiny bridge. But it’s hard sometimes to reconcile my upbringing as a Hoosier with the more rigid ways of the Northeast. I am glad my children get to see places where free-range behavior is encouraged and green expanses still exist. And here’s hoping, one day, I will figure out how to bring Nice Mommy back home.