Growing up fifteen miles South of the Volunteer State, I’d cross the line a lot.
And while nothing really jumped out as being that different, as a kid I couldn’t get past the fact that these people were just a short car ride away but lived under a totally different flag. The post offices. Courthouses. Barns in horse country - all were flying this thing that was so beautiful & bold & so foreign to me it might as well have been Prussian. Ever since then there’s been something comforting about seeing those three stars on a field of red. And while it isn’t my home, it surely ain’t that far away.