The Farm

I left the farm for twelve years. I remember how my heart would break on the way up the driveway. How the pain would turn to an emptiness that I carried. A hollow spot. And I remember the overwhelming feel of returning … how the anticipation would rise in me like a wave that crested as I neared the top of the hill. 

The farm has always been a tether—an umbilical cord—a lifeline. A place that lived and breathed inside me in the same way the blood moved through my veins. It was in everything and to be without it was to starve, deprived of its life-giving sustenance. But in the act of coming and going, I learned of the farm’s power. And now, having returned, I want to spend my life studying its magic. Protecting it for our family. 

The farm sits on the top of the highest point in the county. Glacial valleys swathed in farmlands surround us—and in the distance, just out of sight, long-fingered lakes stretch for miles. Our house sits in quite literally the middle of a pasture. Land where horses grazed is now our backyard and across the field, my parents’ house stands, the glow of the light on the side entry like a beating heart in the night. Around us, several ponds host a chorus of every frog and bird imaginable. Red-winged blackbirds cling to the reeds, crying “purple-gee” every time I approach. In the distance, the fields sprawl, the earth cascading down the hill as if from the top of a waterfall, some fields are threaded with trails my father lovingly maintains, some grow Christmas trees, and some home Highland cattle chewing their cud. Beneath their feet, the soil is rich and unadulterated by chemical interference. 

A cluster of buildings to the right of my parents’ house includes my mother’s farm store. There, she sells organic pastured-raised meats. It’s the grocery store of dreams, and we walk there several times a week to fill our bags with ethically raised food we can trust to nourish our bodies and souls. Up the hill from the store following a stone path is the cook house. A building of my father’s design wrapped in stone walls and nestled just inside the canopy of the woods. From its vantage point overlooking the outdoor riding arena, the view is awe inspiring in a way that forces you to pause and sit, if for even the barest breath. 

Though it’s had many lives, the farm’s importance to my family remains constant. And as we turn a corner into the land’s next chapter, we don’t know exactly where we’ll take it from here. 

But what we do know is how lucky we are to be its shepherd and also its flock. 

In life, and in writing, I have known no greater teacher.