Several years ago I was at a truck stop in East Tennessee and struck up a conversation with a fellow traveler who said he was going back to “God’s country.”

So I inquired just where is “God’s country?” He said West Virginia. And all the time I thought it was South Georgia.

Now many times I’ve heard the expression “God’s country” without giving it much thought. I’ve also heard that the Dallas Cowboys were “God’s team” and that’s why they left the hole in the roof of the stadium so God could watch. And maybe that’s why they put a lid on the Atlanta Falcons’ stadium.

I guess we could have a deep discussion on “God’s country.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard the subject of “God’s country” seriously debated so there must be some consensus that it’s “in the eye of the beholder.”

I think it’s good that people think of their area of habitat as “God’s country.” I think it’s therapeutic and maybe even sad if someone doesn’t feel strongly about his territory. For most of us, it’s a natural thing, I suppose.

And this idea may have broad application. Even though I didn’t go to the University of Georgia, I pull for the Bulldogs, mainly because they’re from “my” state. I also pull for Georgia Tech. Again, they’re from “my” state. 

Now I went to Georgia State University, and even though it’s the largest university in the state, we only recently began a football program, so it’s too early for me to get excited about that. Heck, I didn’t even know we had a basketball team there until I was a senior. I noticed a panther on my class ring and inquired about it. Lo and behold, we were the “Panthers.”

Now back to “God’s country.”

Like I said, I think a particular fondness for one’s home area is therapeutic.  It’s like our “north star.” We can draw our bearings based on our homeplace. 

Many people like to return home to their roots at some point. That’s what I did after living a while in the mountains of East Tennessee. And I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy that part of the country, but I couldn’t smell peanuts being dug and watch the sun rise on the Ochlocknee River. Also, I couldn’t get on a dove shoot up there. And if you stood on one hill in the early morning and shot a deer on another hill, it might be night before you could get it back to your truck. That’s a lot of work.

Yet those hills were beautiful, and I knew some wonderful people there. That was their “God’s country.”

Then one day I was talking to a fellow who was an “Army brat.” He had attended a dozen schools before he graduated. He said he never felt like he “belonged” anywhere. But seemingly he had adjusted well, perhaps claiming the entire U.S. and some foreign islands as his “God’s country.” 

Still he could not talk about that special drive-in where he and “that old gang of mine” would hang out. And he said it was difficult to get close to anyone because as soon as he did his family would move away. That said, I have a special admiration for those folks who serve our country and are required to live sort of a nomadic lifestyle. Also, they get shot at sometimes.

But I have known some folks who moved to other regions and fell in love with that area as well. I know of one person who spends  winters in South Georgia and summers in Alaska. Ironically, it could be that we actually bought part of “God’s country” from Russia, which probably made Khruschev’s shorts fit much tighter than they should.

Email: dwain.walden@gaflnews.com