(Autumn, 2023)
As I was walking around our family farm today, I was thinking about how peaceful it was. Besides the random vehicle that would speed down our road, or a motor being revved from afar, most of the sounds I noticed were nature-related, the sound of empty tree branches brushing against each other in the wind or the soft crunch my feet made as I hiked through the tufts of grass, vainly trying to avoid the mud.
My father in law loves this land. Purchased when he was a young man with a wife and three young boys, this farm has been a source of joy to him. Through the years it’s been home to cattle, sheep, dogs, barn cats, and many varieties of wildlife. It’s grown hay, hops, and corn, not including the seasonal delights a robust garden, apple trees, and beloved raspberry bushes produce. In the fall, the farm becomes a hunter’s paradise and in the spring, a treasure map for morels.
When I walk the land, my heart is drawn to God. When my boots traverse the ground, everything slows down. Ambitions recede, to-do lists fade, and I find myself among the trees and fields alone, but not lonely. Quiet, but not silenced.
A holy place.
Back when I was in undergrad, I remember dreaming with some musician friends about how cool it would be if we could all live on a horse ranch together. A place where we would take care of the horses and ranch chores during the daytime, and then create amazing chamber music together during the evenings as the sun was setting. I imagined how beautiful the sites of seeing our land through the wall-sized windows while the melodies of Brahms or Schumann reverberated across the beautiful oak floors. I laugh now when I think about this dream, knowing just how tired we would be after just one full day’s worth of work on a ranch.
I remember talking to a friend a couple of years later, trying to imagine who my husband would be. I joked about how I would love to live on a farm for maybe two years with him, just to experience what the pace of life would be like. There was something about being connected to the outdoors that my heart craved. Little did I know just a couple of years later, I would meet John and end up visiting his parents for the first time on Resurrection Sunday at their farm. Why would a city girl dream of being on a farm? Only God could have put that desire in my heart.
Since that day, I have spent many wonderful days at this farm and it has become our children’s favorite place. As wonderful as this swath of ground truly is, it’s the Grandpa and Grandma that reside here that make it extraordinary.
I am thankful for the farm. I am thankful for a place that forces me to slow down and quietly invites me to pause and reflect. I am thankful for a place that continues to fill our teenagers with joyful memories. I am thankful for a father and mother in law whose love and care made this land a home.
Oh, and did I mention that the living room at the farm has windows that run the full height of the walls? Like what I pictured back in college? God’s into the details, my friends. Like a divine imprint on my spirit, He was giving me a glimpse of a life to come, except the one who’s now making music is my son with his cello, and the people who fill the room are my family. We may live two states away, but this place will always feel like home.
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