I picked UVM a little less than three years ago, in part because of one essential quality: it was in the Northeast. 

Growing up in Louisville, Ky., I felt that I couldn’t get out of the South fast enough. I didn’t want the sorority lifestyle of big Southern schools. Kentucky’s horse-loving, bourbon-drinking, bleach-blonde, preppy lifestyle didn’t speak to me. 

Not to mention, the racist history of the South along with the more conservative ideology present in our culture overall did not sit well with me either. My city of Louisville was a lovely, liberal bubble, but I struggled to reconcile the complexity of my beliefs with the history of my state. 

Once I left for school though, my relationship to Louisville changed. The rose-colored glasses—a complimentary accessory they give you when you move away from home—came on and haven’t come off since. 

Part of my change in perspective is due to an increased appreciation of Kentucky’s music scene. 

Tyler Childers, a musician from the eastern side of the state, became one of my favorite artists over the past couple of years. His beautiful songs ignited pride in my home state. 

In “Shake the Frost,” Childers sings, “you remind me of a Sunday / back home in ole Kentucky / with church choirs just / beltin’ to the pines.”

His romantic language full of beauty and sentimentality drew my attention to aspects of Kentucky’s culture that I previously ignored. 

While the urban region I grew up in differs greatly from Childers’s experience in an Appalachian county, the song speaks to my experience with Kentucky’s outdoors as well as the church-going that characterized much of my young life. 

I’ve also recently perceived a glorification of Southern culture in the media, especially through country music. 

Zach Bryan, a huge country music artist at the moment, comes to mind. His song “Hey Driver (feat. The War and the Treaty)” focuses on the relationship between comfort and the South. 

The song starts out with a refrain: “So take me down a road that’s a little bit windy / to a place they still put sugar in their iced tea.” 

Like in Childers’s song, the image of winding roads references a drive through the Appalachian mountains—but in North Carolina rather than Kentucky—according to the song lyrics. The song always makes me think of my drive back into Louisville from UVM. 

Through Bryan’s song, the South emanates visions of sweet tea and scenic drives, a romantic yet simplistic portrayal of Southern living. There’s much complexity lurking in the South’s history that gets erased in emphasizing only yummy drinks and pretty views. 

Being away from the day-to-day reality of life in Kentucky, I easily resonate with these pleasurable mementos of home—though I must admit I never drink sweet tea. 

While my hesitations about and dislikes of Southern culture have certainly not left me, not being so up close and personal with the region’s problems allowed me to embrace the parts of the South that I love. 

I miss being called endearing nicknames by sweet women at front desks who embody Southern hospitality at its finest. 

I miss good fried chicken.

In Vermont’s laid-back aesthetic of Blundstones, flannels and jeans, I find myself missing the preppiness of Southern dress. I wish I could say I miss warm winters, but Louisville’s climate is not overly temperate. 

When the first weekend in May comes around, few people in Burlington know that it is Derby weekend. The Kentucky Derby is a horse-racing event that I’ve celebrated since we moved to Louisville when I was five. 

Churchill Downs, located in Louisville, hosts what the Kentucky Derby’s website affectionately calls “the greatest two minutes in sports.”

Living away from Louisville during these past two Derbys has caused me to appreciate how much I miss the culture around it. The outlandish hats, mint juleps, pink dresses on the Oaks and roses for the Derby winner all tint my glasses a little more pink every year I’m away from home. 

Though there are a variety of cultural differences between Vermont and Kentucky, I believe it’s less the experience of a new place that made me appreciate my home and more the opportunity for perspective. 

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, and thus I can admit my love for a state I spent so long resenting.