It's around this time of the year, most years, when the longing is ever-present...in my thoughts...in my words...in my journal writing. The longing is for something quiet, peaceful, authentic, simple...
Country.
My life is surrounded by busyness, people, noise, medium-sized urban (or suburban) movement. This movement is good. It means life and livelihood.
But...
Country is there all the time...in the books I read, the magazines I flip through, my general laid-back way of living, my cooking style, home decor style, the small-town festivals I attend...
Yet...
I'm not quite there.
Country is not far from here. In fact, I'm surrounded by it. River bluffs to the west, rolling farmland to the north and east and beautiful hills, mountains if you will, to the south...
Yet, I'm not there.
As a young girl my dreams were aimed for New York City. Surely, there were bigger and better things there? My soul knew better. I didn't make it there.
I see old farmhouses with front porches...an old man sitting on his tractor in the middle of a bean field surveying his land...a rickety wooden (rail-less) bridge crossing over a creek on an unknown gravel road...a forgotten barn...hands raising in a wave at every car you meet...clothes hanging on a line next to a hump of grass in the ground...with a door...the root cellar...cows grazing against a far away tree line...
Quiet.
Expansive Open Skies.
Peace.
Space for growing...Gardens...Fields...Families...Love...
Yet, I'm still not quite there.
Where do I fit...this country girl who doesn't live in the country? For now, country must be a state of mind because it surely is the state of my mind most of the time. Someday I will be there...
Country.
