I am a New England transplant. I grew up way down south in Pennsylvania. It was a series of strange and uncanny events* that brought me up here and a husband who kept me here. It's a whole other post (series of posts, a la the Pioneer Woman's high heels to tractor wheels story).
At first, I tried to get Craig to move to PA to be near my family, and put even more effort into trying to get him to move to South Carolina so I could live near my sister. He objected to both because they are not near water. And he has a point.
So as time went on, and we had children, and I embraced winter sports and summers in Maine, apple picking in the fall and . . . I don't know what we do in the spring because spring is about 4 days long between winter and summer, I really began to become a New Englander. A Red-Sox loving, Patriots-rooting, lobster consuming (and cracking the shell all by myself), Nantucket-visiting, chowder-cooking New Englander.
Tonight, making clam chowder (and not opening a can of Snow's, either), I pulled some frozen bacon fat out and added it to my broth. I knew then that I had fully embraced living in New England, what with the Yankee thriftiness that action embodies. The woman who wrote out the recipe for me, the first week I was up here, suggested I keep bacon fat in the freezer for just that purpose.
Honestly, it's better with fresh bacon fat. But it was still good.
Sam ate it. Do I even need to tell you that Kate didn't?
*by strange and uncanny I mean now it's easy to see God's hand leading all the way.