In the very last scene of Greta Gerwig’s “Lady Bird” (2017), Christine “Lady Bird” McPherson finds herself in New York City reconciling with her mom via a phone call. She asks, “Hey, mom, did you feel emotional the first time you drove in Sacramento?”
“I did, and I wanted to tell you, but we weren’t really talking when it happened. All those bends I’ve known my whole life, and stores, and the whole thing,” Lady Bird says into the voicemail.
During this scene, a montage captures Lady Bird and her mother driving in Sacramento. Their car crosses green bridges, and both characters glance at sun-kissed Sacramento. It’s a gentle reminder of Lady Bird’s coming-of-age: she yearns to leave Sacramento’s familiarity, a complicated relationship with her mother and an edgy high school experience.
Although I’m neither from Sacramento nor have constraining familial relationships, I still find “Lady Bird” to be my favorite movie. For me, the emotional complexities are intoxicating. Simply, it’s Gerwig’s style of encapsulating childhood and a push to somewhere far away but a heavy pull back to one’s childhood.
Now that I am arriving in Australia at the time of this publication, it’s time that I reminisce on home in a “Lady Bird” way. Every study abroad student has the right to, right?
Personal definitions of what constitutes “the Midwest” vary. Some decry Missouri or the Dakotas. Others say Ohio barely counts. In lieu of saying I’ll miss the Midwest, I think the more precise location I feel I’ll miss most is the Rust Belt. In my personal definition, the Rust Belt spans eastern New York through Pennsylvania, around the Great Lakes and into southern Wisconsin. The people are friendly. Meat and potatoes are a regular on most menus. Walmarts are frequented by bored high schoolers at 8:00 p.m. It’s home.
When I was in Pittsburgh this past summer, the Rust Belt nostalgia heightened. Pickles, perogies and the Pirates harbored a ride-or-die community of loyalists. Bipolar weather also reminded me of my small Ohio hometown — if it was multiplied 50 times over in size. Eventually, Ohio streets I’ve known my whole life took the shape of tunnels and hills. In short, it was a comforting place, though I was five hours from home.
In Pittsburgh, I met some new friends and inspirational journalists. Naturally, I began to more concretely think about my career, as the cliche would predict: a small town boy or girl from Sacramento grasping to novelty. But I wouldn’t want it any other way. Simply put, Pittsburgh forced me to be independent, to find new people, to discover my purpose.
The latter two could be said about Notre Dame, too. Although I felt out of place at first, it has been a microcosm of Rust Belt: four seasons bleed into each other with permaclouds, football games bring people together and the people are neighborly.
Even though outsiders (especially in online humor) don’t romanticize the Rust Belt, I can’t imagine myself being rooted anywhere else. My foundational life experiences are more than a sum of the places I’ve been.
Because I was in Ohio for two months, my wish to stay felt like Lady Bird’s realization at the end of the film. I’m already missing my blue Honda Accord, snowy cornfields and drinking a concerning amount of free coffee. Even more like Lady Bird, I’m missing my family and friends most. Call it cliche or predictable, but that old adage is true: it’s people who make a place.
Redmond (Reddy) Bernhold is a junior studying biochemistry and journalism. He originally hails from Minster, Ohio but calls Siegfried Hall his home on campus. When not writing, he explores South Bend coffee shops and thrift stores. You can contact Reddy at rbernho2@nd.edu.
