Every year around this time it seems that I take a picture of our driveway, outfitted in all her colorful fall glory, and I usually caption it “country roads, take me home. …” My driveway always has a few perfect fall days where it is the absolute peak of fall beauty.

It makes up for all the times that I had to dig my car out of a snowbank or couldn’t get up the hill thanks to ice in the same driveway. Although my driveway during a snowstorm or after an ice storm is also a pretty spectacular place to be.

This year, however, I got to thinking about the rest of the song. “To the place I belong. …” I’ve loved this song since I was a little kid and my parents had John Denver’s Greatest Hits on eight track. It didn’t hurt that Pennsylvania had the same number of syllables and rhyme scheme as West Virginia and so it was easy to shout Pennsylvania during the chorus.

Every single time I returned home for a college break, I would sing the song to myself as we turned into the driveway. It is the ultimate country road that literally takes me home, so it just fit.

After navigating the ups and downs of collegiate life, as well as the hustle and bustle of the big city, coming home, whether it was for a few days of Thanksgiving break or a few months of summer break, was always soothing and calming. Whether it was the rest that followed the mad crush of semester finals or the joyful reunions with friends and family over the holidays, turning into my driveway was the start of a few days of certainty and getting back to my roots.

On the flip side, most of my life’s adventures started in that driveway, from learning how to ride my bike, to learning to drive my car, to leaving for a new middle school, college and even moving to my own first apartment. While I had a few years of “home” being somewhere else, it was only a few miles away, and my country road was still very much a part of my daily routine, as I stopped almost daily to see my family.

Even when we weren’t living here, the kids knew an adventure was about to start when we headed up to the farm for a long weekend of camping in the backyard, or just a visit with Grandpap, which invariably involved some form of candy.

Now that we’re living here full time, there is no end to the excitement that the driveway provides. From roaring rapids that spring up in the gutters after a heavy rainstorm to the delicate fawns that peek at us from behind their mothers in the spring, every drive is unique and there is almost always some unexpected “country” encounter. Just last week, a pair of bears were startled by my vehicle, and pretty soon the three of us were lumbering up the driveway, almost racing each other.

These past few months have made me appreciate the privacy and the solitude at the end of that country road even more than ever before. Since it is exactly one-half mile, it makes for an easy round-trip mile walk a few times a day, one that is just perfect to tire out a new puppy. E also used her time in quarantine to master the two-wheeler, on the same gentle hill and flat run that I did the same on decades ago.

It’s getting to a point that I wonder if I “belong” anywhere else. A few weeks ago, I had to report for jury duty. Usually, I enjoy getting to fulfill my civic duty, and am entertained by the colorful cast of characters that can be witnessed on any day at the county courthouse. This time, though, I had a tightness in my chest all day.

It was the first time in months that I had been in a room with so many people. It wasn’t so much a fear of the virus. I was wearing a mask, I was careful to keep my distance, and I washed my hands enough times that I was sure I was missing a layer of skin. It was the other things that bothered me: the woman chewing her gum loudly, a man who had liberally applied his aftershave, another person who had not muted the sounds on his cellphone.

Not only could I hear his fingers tapping away as he texted furiously, but every few minutes another ping or alert would shatter the silence. When they announced that we were dismissed for the day, I scurried out of there as fast as I could and headed straight home to enjoy the rest of the afternoon and some peace and quiet.

The first thing I did was take Duncan out for a walk in the driveway. Along the way, squirrels chittered at each other relentlessly. Duncan snarled and barked at them. Then, of course, he had to stop and inspect every stump and rock and then mark them accordingly. A train chugged by, greeting me with a blast of their signal.

As I passed my brother’s home, my nephew caught sight of me and banged on the window cheerfully. The whole time, I kept a wary eye out for our new neighbors, the bears. All in all, it was anything but peaceful, but it was definitely where I belonged.

Recently, A brought up two milestones that he’s starting to get nervous and excited about: getting his driver’s license and going away to school. Ever the organized planner, he has started to think about what kind of vehicle would be a good one for him, and although he does like classic muscle cars, he has realized the practicality of having something like a small pickup, particularly for navigating our driveway in the winter. (Also, if anyone in this family is getting a flashy sports car, it’s going to be me, first.)

The car discussion led to his second question, which was if he goes to school in the city, how is he ever going to learn how to drive in the city, when all he has to practice on are our “country roads.”

Of course, our conversation came to an abrupt end as he saw my eyes well up as his choice of words hit me and God forbid we get emotional with the teenager, but I know someday, he’s going to appreciate these country roads and I hope he’ll feel the same sense of belonging that I do, no matter where he goes in the world.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News. Her column appears weekly in our Saturday feature section.