Homesick
A couple of days ago now, I had a huge bit of homesickness, stemming from several things.
- a desire to have someone take care of me because I had a stomach bug.
- a desire for a garden or even just dirt and trees in my near proximity.
- a dream of living on a farm again.
That morning, I was reading "Leaning into the Wind," a collection of stories written by women of the West that I purchased in the Grand Tetons. It is full of stories where the central theme is their connection to, love of and respect for the land. Granted, mid-Missouri land is friendlier than a lot of the West (we're talking Montana and Wyoming and prairies, here, folks), but the feelings for the land are universal. So, it reminds me of Missouri and the relationship my family has to the land, and then the homesickness sets in.
I realize what I'm missing. I was always the smart one, the one who would go to college, have a fancy job and live in the city. And because of that, at least partially, I was never taught how to raise a garden or to shoot a gun. I was never given a shot at being any sort of farmer and connecting with that land was never supposed to be that important. It's something I've continually had to seek out. "Hey, can I help in the garden? Can I spread the manure? May I help?" People look at my quizzically, but they generally agree.
So, what do I do? Right now, I need to find a garden. I think I'll sign up for a garden class in the spring. And, in a few years, move to a place that has dirt outside and try my luck. Maybe, eventually, I'll get back to the farm and see what happens.
- a desire to have someone take care of me because I had a stomach bug.
- a desire for a garden or even just dirt and trees in my near proximity.
- a dream of living on a farm again.
That morning, I was reading "Leaning into the Wind," a collection of stories written by women of the West that I purchased in the Grand Tetons. It is full of stories where the central theme is their connection to, love of and respect for the land. Granted, mid-Missouri land is friendlier than a lot of the West (we're talking Montana and Wyoming and prairies, here, folks), but the feelings for the land are universal. So, it reminds me of Missouri and the relationship my family has to the land, and then the homesickness sets in.
I realize what I'm missing. I was always the smart one, the one who would go to college, have a fancy job and live in the city. And because of that, at least partially, I was never taught how to raise a garden or to shoot a gun. I was never given a shot at being any sort of farmer and connecting with that land was never supposed to be that important. It's something I've continually had to seek out. "Hey, can I help in the garden? Can I spread the manure? May I help?" People look at my quizzically, but they generally agree.
So, what do I do? Right now, I need to find a garden. I think I'll sign up for a garden class in the spring. And, in a few years, move to a place that has dirt outside and try my luck. Maybe, eventually, I'll get back to the farm and see what happens.
Labels: garden
1 Comments:
I understand the feeling of longing for the land and farming. My family has been farming for generations. Like you, I grew up running around my grandma's ranch scaring the sheep and searching for lost treasures. And my family never entertained a notion that I would ever want to be a farmer, who would want that life when they could live so much easier in the city? Now I think I long for the perceived simplicity of the country; I know its challenges, but sometimes wish I could trade my life. Whenever I come back from a visit to Nebraska, I realize I miss the sky. The sky in Missouri is nice, but in the great plains it's so much bigger, bluer, more open. You feel tiny, like a little speck of nothing, but I've never felt more connected than when I felt lost in the sky. And I've never slept better than from the blissful exhaustion of a day of working in the garden and getting a good dose of dirt on my hands.
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