Confessions of a Farmer’s Daughter

14 Sep

When I think about home, it tugs at my heart strings more than anyone/thing I have loved and lost. When I say “home”, I mean home, home. Northern Minnesota where it reaches -40 below, and if you dare breathe in…

well.. you don’t.

The summers are humid but cool at night. Sweatshirt weather. It’s the way I like it.

It’s usually rainy when rain isn’t wanted, and too dry when the crops need a little moisture. Nothing ever seems to go right with the weather.

But since I’ve moved, those bitterly cold days, and the ungodly humid summers in the field are what love is to me. It’s what I grew up with. It’s what I know. It’s what I love. Sometimes its really deep down inside. But it’s there.

It wouldn’t be much of anything without my cracked family. Often times delirious from lack of sleep, or just because that’s how we are. Notice I say “we”. I am still a product of my family, and of Minnesota, even tho I’ve moved 1300 miles away to the balmy state of Texas. Where the winters are like Minnesota summers, and the summers are plain unbearable. Hence the reason my lawn wont be mowed(Andrea-Come-Lately).

Before I met my now husband and moved to Texas in 2008, I didn’t realize what I was leaving behind. My only thought at the time was, “I really don’t want to bale my summer away, again(even though Dad needs me).” At the time, it was a little bit of an escape, but I loved Texas from my very first visit on. Still do. I feel more connected to the world, and to civilization. And I miss it when I visit my Minnesota home.

Even though I’ve been in Texas 2 years and 3 months and a couple odd numbered days(but who’s counting), this still only feels like my temporary home until my husband and I move back up north. And until that day, my heart will long for a hug from my mom, who gives the best hugs, whenever I want; drives around town with my sister, talks with Dad about stories I’ve heard 5 times, and spending time with my brothers even tho they usually just do their own thing and pretend I never left when I come home to visit. As well as the numerous weekly coffee visits from Aunt Donna, and going to Forks with my also newly married girls.

If someone would have told me when I was 12 that growing up might be difficult and bittersweet at times, I would have stopped right there on the spot. I would have been completely content to stay in the woods by my house and play in the tree fort with the neighbor boys.

No I wouldn’t have.

I would have mulled it over for about three seconds and then day dreamed about getting my driver’s license, going to college and living at an apartment with friends far away from home while driving my Jeep where ever I wanted, whenever I wanted, because I was grown up enough to do those things.

Things wont ever be like they were, and I still haven’t adjusted to that, but they will feel normal, and familiar, and not so lonely, and just plain good when we move back up north.

Amen.

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