Back Home Again

The tree­tops toss up and down hyp­not­i­cal­ly. Across the high­way the rem­nant prairie rip­ples, a green sea of wav­ing bluestem and switch­grass. Occa­sion­al­ly a lull in the wind makes audi­ble the raspy crow of a roost­er pheas­ant or the clear flut­ing song of a West­ern Mead­owlark. I am home on the prairie. My wife and I left the city behind yes­ter­day for a full week (plus trav­el days) with my par­ents in their barn.

It had long been a dream of my par­ents’ to take an old barn and con­vert it into a house, a home. Four years ago, this unlike­ly dream sud­den­ly became a real­i­ty for them. So it is at the spa­cious three-storey Barn House that I will attempt to catch up on sleep, eat well, and regain some soul-life in the com­ing week.

I love the coun­try, par­tic­u­lar­ly the open prairie lands of my youth. My wife and I are in the ear­ly stages of of fig­ur­ing out how to move our lives to a farm of our own, leav­ing the city behind for good and build­ing a qui­et life of agrar­i­an self-suf­fi­cien­cy. She loves trees and riv­er val­leys, so our research is focused on the south-east­ern cor­ner of this state, with its rolling hills, lime­stone bluffs, and dense hard­wood forests (or at least the remain­ing ves­tiges thereof).

I have called that part of Min­neso­ta home as well at some point, so I have no objec­tion to look­ing there for our new home-to-be. I am con­fi­dent I will fall in love again with the cool green hills. But for now there is no deny­ing it: I love the prairie best.

So it is good to be back home. The hot prairie wind feels good in my hair, upon my face. My boy roams freely upon the slop­ing lawn, amidst the trees my father has plant­ed. It is good to be in this place. Where we end up? That will be seen in due time.

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