Where are you from?

One of my favorite poems is Where I'm From by George Ella Lyons. I love this poem because it speaks to the place that you are from, not in the limited geographic sense, but from where you have been in your life's journey that has made you who you are today. What memories have shaped you and molded your beliefs? What generational memories do you share that make you feel notalgic? Do you think back fondly to taking the pick up truck out into the wide open Minnesota field with the Northern Lights serving as a backdrop to your youthful antics with a girl on your arm, a beer in your hand, a buddy with a smile, and Glen Miller on the radio like my grandfather recalls? Or are your memories of summers in the Catskills, cardgames, and momma's weekley bingo games? The poem by George Ella Lyons is this:

I am from clothespins, from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the black porch.(Black, glisteningit tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush, the Dutch elm whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I'm from fudge and eyeglasses, from Imogene and Alafair.
I'm from the know-it-alls and the pass-it-ons, from perk up and pipe down.
I'm from He restoreth my soul with a cottonball lamb and ten verses I can say myself.
I'm from Artemus and Billie's Branch, fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost to the auger, the eye my father shut to keep his sight.
Under my bed was a dress boxspilling old pictures, a sift of lost facesto drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments - snapped before I budded - leaf-fall from the family tree.

So, my fellow bloggers...where are you from?