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Is that an airplane or a car?

When I was younger I lived in paradise.
The town was called Leola. Born and raised.
It was a very small town. Not quite country, not quite city, not quite farmland.
A mix of all three.
Some stew of a place.
Take a handful of cattle, some factories, a bit of fast food chains, a pinch of cattle and one main street.
That's where I lived. Main Street.
The winters were nice and the summers nicer.
A cool breeze blew through the tree we had in our backyard; the one I used to climb.
The old wooden swingset we got from the daycare my brother and I used to go to.
The grass was green.
The smoke from the plastic factory was grey and white.
The people were simultaneously happy and sad and angry.
But I loved it.
It was home and it still is home.
As I sat in the small bedroom I shared with my brother, the John Deere curtains blowing softly with the meandering breeze that came through our screen window...
I heard a droning noise and thought to myself:

"Is that an airplane or a car?"