I just got back from a week in northeastern Ohio, and no, I didn't go because I lost a bet. Admittedly, it's a strange destination for a Floridian in January, but my sister had surgery and needed some help afterwards.

At the beginning of my stay, there were three or four inches of beautiful, pristine snow. But it warmed up by week's end, and we drove through the rain to the Pittsburgh Airport for my return flight. The snow had melted and all the dog crap and litter were exposed again, but the trees were still coated with snow and ice and sparkling. Four hours later I was back in Tallahassee, and found my tulip tree in full bloom in my own front yard.

It's a bittersweet thing going back to my hometown after 20 years, because Youngstown is the buckle on the rust belt. What used to be a 28-mile stretch of steel mills along the Mahoning River is now carcinogen-laden badlands. The valley is studded with the demolition and recycling businesses that canibalized what was a source of generous income for thousands of first, second and third generation immigrant families. Those families and their preserved cultures made Youngstown, Ohio a wonderful place to grow up and come of age. But for me and 80 percent of the region's population, it just wasn't a place to make a living or build a life so we left. Maybe "fled" better describes the exodus.

The northside of town where I lived in my 20s is a ghost town. When I visited in 1992 my old friend Coy warned me that if I was going to tour the old neighborhood "go during the day, keep your doors locked, your windows up, and don't stop for red lights or stop signs." On this trip he said it's safer now because so much of the old neighborhood has been torn down or boarded up. And he was right; even the park and playground were empty.

Coy, my friend of almost 30 years, has prostate cancer. The forty radiation treatments he underwent brought it under control for a while, but now it's stage 4 and has metasticized to his ribs and hip. He says he isn't in any pain and is still working. It was through Coy that I met my ex-husband, his best friend, and for a few years during and after the divorce our friendship was a little awkward. But a mutual history and fondness made it easy to reunite on this trip, and I'll always be thankful for the little bit of time we spend together over lunch. He's decided against the recommended chemo treatments. He's been building a new foundry and studio for his bronze sculptures and wants to work again in the large scale he abandoned years ago. He knows that if he does the chemo he'll probably never feel this good again.

As if I needed another reminder of time's passage, I had a birthday while I was back in Ohio. Hometowns and old friends matter more to me as I get older. I've always complained about a lack of continuity in my life; multiple marriages and relocations always seemed to interrupt or sever ties. But on this trip, even with all the changes, life seemed seamless. I guess when I was younger I didn't appreciate how deep my roots and relationships really are.