Lexington, KY - I hail from the Holy City of Charleston, S.C.: home to a church on every block and plenty of Southern-style worship, whether it be shrimp and grits with a spicy bloody mary, or fire and brimstone saved by a saint of the same name.
Last February, I moved to an ice-entrenched Lexington for love. Love is love is love. And my husband loves horse racing. No further explanation needed.
To put it kindly, I did not give our great central Kentucky city on a hill a chance. Lexington was landlocked with a fierce winter and unpredictable fall and spring. My decision had been made. Sure, I would enjoy this fair city to the best of my ability, but I would not even think about comparing it to my humid and hallowed Lowcountry home in the sun; that would be torture in the utmost degree.
But the weather has warmed, my heart has thawed and I've been thinking.
Ten years ago, Charleston and its competitive neighbor, Savannah, were only regional treasures. Parts of the eponymous King Street were in disrepair, and others weren't safe for this college coed after dark.
On the same hand, Charleston became my own in January, much like the annual emptying out of Lexington streets after University of Kentucky students leave for Christmas break. The sidewalks were deserted, and I was free to wander Market Street in 50-degree weather as I would my own backyard.
Enter the New York Times and The Food Network: Charleston has quickly become a year-round destination for Yankees, West-Coasters and everyone in between. "Why would you ever leave Charleston?" was the most common question I received during my first six months here.
Lexingtonians, I have been converted, and I hope you've beaten me to the punch. Second Street's 19th-century architecture gives me goosebumps that rival Savannah's spooky squares, Ale-8 makes my teeth tingle, and I drink my bourbon with branch water.
I am smitten with lazy, Sunday drives down Frankfort Pike that just might lead to a dip in Elkhorn Creek, or maybe a stop by Wallace Station for a sandwich that is too large for my constitution. I pick up my order at Stella's Deli on Jefferson Street, and the "Cheers" theme song doesn't seem like such a gimmick. I bike by Thursday Night Live, and I know the band. They know me.
I say all of this to make a point and a comparison. Living in Charleston or Savannah is a vacation every day. There's no denying the beauty, the history, the culture and pure culinary deliciousness around every alleyway.
Lexington is already there. We simply have to open our eyes to see it as I had to open mine, albeit stubbornly. We're on the verge of reinvention, coupled with strong history and pride in everything that we do.
And Charleston isn't perfect. The city's drainage problem is just one example. When it storms, the flawless, watercolor painting of a tourist trap that is downtown sickeningly slides down the street like a chalk painting from Burt the Chimneysweep - except for the crowd of college students in canoes.
And have you read "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil"? If that's even half-true, I'd be scared to spend even a night in a Savannah square.
Yes, Lexington has environmental problems and local conspiracies of its own. But the action of ProgressLex and Mayor Jim Gray with regard to the continuing CentrePointe issue is just one example of what our community leadership is doing about our city's identity and how much they care.
Lexington has meat on her bones, pride in her eccentricity and a tenacity to promote progress. Our storms only serve to cleanse and make us shine. Central Kentucky is a land brimming with stand-alone entities ranging from supreme college sports and highly sought-after equine bloodlines, to signature distilled goodness and untouched natural beauty.
Nothing can replace sand-covered toes, the first bite of a po' boy made with shrimp straight off the boat or temperate weather that would make Zeus jealous, but the fact that I'm a name and not a number in Lexington has made more of a difference than an ocean breeze ever could.
I can adopt a local watering hole as my own with a handshake and a smile, which is something I hope you never lose, Lexington.
Perhaps Mark Twain's famous adage about everything occurring in Kentucky 20 years late isn't such a bad thing. I'd rather get it right the first time.
Enjoy a serene summer of unclogged streets and in-state license plates. You never know when it might be the last.