I am not your average New Hampshire resident. I don’t ski, I’ve never hunted in my life, I only attend Patriots watching parties for the food and I bitch and moan my way through our six-month-long winters. The list goes on and on.

So atypical am I that I spent the better part of my adolescence in New Hampshire telling people why I couldn’t wait to get out. I had a laundry list of reasons why it wasn’t for me: It’s too rural, too small, too homogenous, too cold, too this, too that. Now that I’ve safely escaped New Hampshire’s clutches, I stand by most of those sentiments — and yet, strangely, I feel something I never used to feel for my home state: love.

        Now that I’m in Boston, I’ve increasingly found myself slipping references to New Hampshire (or “The Shire,” as we affectionately call it) into conversations. I’m actually interested when I see a headline about New Hampshire pop up on Google News. When a classmate mentions he’s from New Hampshire, I’m just a little too excited. I even get nostalgic for our roadside liquor stores — great for cutting down on drunken driving — and excessive amounts of flannel.
When I lived in New Hampshire full-time, I couldn’t imagine why people would choose to move there, or why tourists would come to visit. When I was home for the summer, though, I started to actually see the Granite State through a visitor’s eyes. I was constantly dragging my friends outside to enjoy the fresh air, and I rediscovered how much fun it is to go hiking and biking. I made regular treks out to our 17 miles of coastline, just to enjoy the scenery. For once, I caught myself actually noticing how beautiful the mountains and forests are instead of pining away for skyscrapers and taxis.
So am I going to build myself a log cabin in the North Country of New Hampshire and call it a day? No way in hell. I’m still built for the city, but now I can appreciate the place I came from, not just the places I’m going.
I’m still taken aback when I hear myself extolling the virtues of New Hampshire – otherwise known as the 603, since we all share one area code – but I’m going to stop fighting it. I think, maybe, I needed to leave New Hampshire so that I could come back with a fresh appreciation for the place I grew up. It may not be the place I want to spend the rest of my years, but distance has allowed me to see its values, and even why it’s a pretty great place to live.
For better or for worse, I’m always going to carry a little bit of New Hampshire with me. I can say with confidence that for the rest of my life, I will know how to drive in the snow like a champ, and I will know the most efficient way to get rogue chipmunks and bats out of the house. I will have an appreciation for the outdoors, and I will scoff at anyone who refuses to swim in the frigidly cold waters of the northern Atlantic. Most importantly, I will always and forever get amped up by our overly aggressive state motto, “Live Free or Die.”
For the first time in my 19 years, I will admit that I’m going to miss New Hampshire when I don’t call it home after graduation, something I never thought I’d say a few years ago. I guess what they say is true: Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

-Jamie Ducharme can be reached at [email protected].