As I was admiring a turtle wallowing in the mud this evening, and while mulching the bamboo, and then as I walked the boundaries of our acreage, it occurred to me that Irene and I have just celebrated four years here in West Virginia. So for no other reason other than that it amused me to do so, I put together a pie chart to visualize what percentage of my life has been spent in each of the four states I’ve called home.

I was born in Brooklyn, New York, and spent the first thirty years of my life in various apartment buildings and brownstones. But once I moved away from that borough, each jump has taken me to a more rural location. Even though I now live on eight acres, with neighbors barely visible, it occurs to me that I’m very much the same person I was as a child living on Ocean Parkway.

When I attended summer camp as a kid, and we’d visit Marine Park, I would always sneak away as the sides were chosen for whatever was the sport of the day. I’d find a tree worthy of climbing, and sit up there as high as I could in the dappled sunlight for hours—often with a battered paperback—until it was time to go and my camp counselors wandered the park frantically shouting my name. The joy I feel today in this park I’ve built myself is not so very different from what I felt back then, happy as I sat at peace in my pretend woods.

I don’t fool myself into thinking that I’ll remain here for the rest of my life. I’m sure there’ll be more moves to come. But until I’m forced to go, I’ll enjoy watching the size of the West Virginia wedge of that pie chart increase.