In his column last week, Andrew Godinich wrote on the divide between the coastal intelligensia of Columbia and the average “Middle Americans.” He argues that Columbians “need a public relations makeover. We need to show that we are not only a global university, we are an American one as well.”

As someone who is rather fondly from a flyover state, I happily agree.

Both Barnard and Columbia have global culture requirements—but neither has an American studies requirement. As a freshman, I might have even scoffed at such a suggestion, I mean, didn’t we spend all of middle and high school learning about American history and politics? And besides, I aspire to be a drifting world-traveller—I’m not exactly what you would call a die-hard Nationalist.

But I’m often baffled by how many people at Columbia can’t point to my state on a map, identify what time zone it’s in, or even remember the name of the particular city I’m from. (Cleveland? Cincinnati? Columbus? They’re basically the same, right?) To many, my city is just another question mark located somewhere amidst the unfamiliar vastness that exists between this country’s coasts, and, thus, not worth our intellectual interest.

I always appreciate when peers take an interest and ask me questions. Even then, though, some of the questions are a bit concerning. (My brother was once asked if we have pizza in Ohio; he smartly replied that we only eat what we can grow.)

Here are some of my favorites:

1. In Ohio, do you have: a buggy? a shotgun? intellectuals? sheep in your backyard?
2. Have you ever gone cow-tipping? (No, have you ever put your hands on the torso of a four-legged, pasturing animal twice your size and then pushed?)
3. Have you ever seen the Indians? (For this question, I assumed the questioner meant the baseball team. I told her I’d been to a few games. She looked confused. Apparently she meant the “Indians that are like running around, on reservations and stuff.” Um . . .)
4. What do you do all day there? (Oh, I generally stare at a wall or a ceiling or an open prairie while the great basin breeze flitters through my braided hair and apron strings. That, or go cow-tipping.)

I love where I’m from, so I’ve learned to have a sense of humor regarding such questions. But in my four years here, I’ve repeatedly felt the need for more of my peers to become better acquainted with non-coastal America, both in and outside the classroom setting. To say the least, an understanding of the many Americas beyond the one we find in Morningside Heights will serve us well in all of our endeavors—and it is imperative if we in turn hope to serve and lead this great Nation.

So, in the spirit of sharing and learning, I’ll end my lecturing plea with some funny pictures and the encouragement to go explore this very varied country!

This is where I’m from (more or less):

Parts of my state look like this, but it’s not where I live:

And I do not own or drive one of these:

Caroline Blosser is a Senior Spectrum opinion blogger. She’s also looking for a job .