I’m not sure when it happened, but I am suddenly very happy in a place I used to dream of putting in my rearview mirror.

I grew up in Missouri. Not the big cities of St. Louis or Kansas City, but the very center, in farmlands full of crops and livestock. Schools and church and shopping were ‘in town’, a winding 25-minute drive away. For most of my growing up years my bedroom window looked out over a field inhabited by an assortment of farm animals. As my mom would describe it we had ‘a little bit of everything but not much of anything.’ A cow and sometimes her latest calf, who provided every drop of milk I poured over my generic cereal in the morning.  A horse, then two, both ridden without saddles or halters. Enough chickens to make a good breakfast every day and the once a year a butchering party that kept our freezer full of hefty chicken breasts and legs. The goats were mainly for the 4-H project that made the county fair fun every year, as we walked them in circles, collected our ribbons, and spent the night in the smelly stalls.

The animals, combined with the acre sized hand planted garden in our backyard set us up on what to many would qualify to be called a farm. A lot of daily chores, performed in worn out rubber farm boots that were lined up by the basement door. It kept us fed and entertained in the days of no internet and no real channels on the small color television that sat mostly undisturbed in the living room.

But I was not a farm girl. I tried to enjoy the old brown horse who lived in our field out back, knowing so many girls in my school classroom would love to have a horse to walk and brush and ride in circles. But I just didn’t get it. Horses smell and are big and unpredictable. I didn’t see the draw.

I knew that once I had the chance, I’d be out of that environment. I wasn’t necessarily drawn to the big city, or fancy places, I just didn’t feel like I fit in the farmland.

When life finally gave me the opportunity, I took it. I moved three hours south of my livestock rich home to attend a college in the other major city in Missouri, Springfield. Still not glamourous, I found a bit more fun and opportunities as I worked through the motions to acquire an elementary education degree. I met people from all walks of life, and many different hometowns. I learned about foreign countries from exchange student friends who shared my dorm room hallway. My freshman year was the historic ‘I-70 series’, a World Series in baseball that pitted two teams from the same state against each other. Even those of us who were not necessarily baseball fans caught the excitement as Kansas City rallied up to take down St. Louis. The rivalries were exciting and felt very far away from the quiet farmland life I’d left behind.

After college I knew I wanted to see more of the world. Or at least more of the states that make up our vast and diverse country. Fate was my friend and I found a great friend in my dorm, who had come to college from the exotic place called New England. To a Midwest girl from the middle of Missouri, the draw was immediate. By the end of our college days, we were engaged and I was on a plane bound for New Hampshire to meet my future family-in-laws.

The life of exploration had begun. He showed me all of his favorite spots in four different states, all a few hours away from each other. I was happy to leave the rolling hills full of cows behind.

After the wedding on Thanksgiving weekend, where we hired a square dance caller for the reception, to give all of the out-of-town guests a true taste of rural Missouri, we packed up our little Subaru with all of our worldly possessions, and moved to New Hampshire to begin our new life. 

A few years later we’d move back to MO, so hubby could work on his Masters Degree. This time we lived near the Capital and he started working as an archaeologist for the Highway Department.

Ten years went by quickly and then we made some radical changes. He was hired by the Federal Highway Department and our first location would be Washington D.C. Considering it was just nine months after the 9/11 attacks, you couldn’t get more exciting than that.

I took every opportunity to drag our now full family of four little ones all over that city. Every week I’d scour the newspaper for the latest festival or exhibit that might be just a metro ride away. It was the kind of life I’d dreamed of, all those years stuck in the quiet farmlands of MO.

Next came a move to Utah. It was a state I’d never been to, and since we had very little internet in those days, I didn’t know what to expect. I was blown away by its beauty. Not just the gorgeous snowy peaks in the northern part of the state, but the fascinating characteristics of the Great Salt Lake, and the incredible red rock formations to the south. Again, we did all we could to see more of this beautiful state. The kids learned to ski and we enjoyed the slopes nearly every winter weekend. We explored Moab and beautiful canyons in the Navaho nation, where hubby traveled for work.

Our next move brought us back East, to New York. We settled in a quiet area of Upstate, just a couple of hours from the big city. That meant having a peaceful life of school events and local festivals mixed with frequent trips down to NYC to explore. I paid close attention to exhibits and festivals and opportunities to be in TV audiences. It was just another great exploration of what lies beyond the farmlands of the Midwest.

Our final move was to Colorado. We missed the consistent snow and beautiful climate of the West, so we headed back. For over ten years, as the last of our babies graduated high school, we lived in the mountains. There were often herds of elk in our yard. The skiing was once again consistent. My boys even worked at the local ski resort, something I could have never dreamed of as a wishful little girl.

We knew Colorado would be our forever state. And I assumed we’d always be in the mountains. But then something epic happened. Our oldest son got married and was expecting our first grandbaby. And they lived in a town two hours from us, in the farmlands of Colorado.

There was a huge choice to make. We knew we wanted to be involved in this baby’s life as much as possible, and living two hours away didn’t seem like a good way to do it. At the most, we’d see him every weekend, and we didn’t want to monopolize their family time by visiting on their only days off.

So we made the leap. We moved out of the mountains, and down to the valley. To the farmland.  Back to where I’d started.

It was an easy decision, knowing that if we moved, I could watch this baby every day, while mom and dad worked, and we’d get to see him grow up in a very personal way.  But I did have reservations.

We’d lived so many exciting places. Could we be happy, just riding on the joy of grandparenthood alone? Could I find my joy back in an area where several weeks out of the year, when the manure is being spread on the fields, the air smells like a dirty diaper and the flies invade my normally bug free home?

I didn’t have long to ponder the decision; a baby was on the way.

By a stroke of luck, a house went up for sale just three houses down the street from my son’s family. With their blessing, we bought it and moved into our new farmland CO home.  

That was five years ago. My little buddy, who I have been with nearly every day of his life, has now headed off to kindergarten. We soaked up days, and weeks, and months, then years of memories and special moments. I got to rock him when he was sick and make race cars out of toilet paper rolls. We built forts under my kitchen table and he took nearly every weekday nap in my big bed, after watching Ms. Rachel together.  It was totally worth the loss, of moving out of my dream mountain home.

And I slowly came to love my new small-town home. We live in an area twenty minutes from a bigger city. We pass by endless fields, full of crops and cattle, every time we ‘go to town’. It’s much like my childhood, once again. But for some reason I’ve fallen in love with it.

I’ve learned to appreciate watching those fields change over the months. Today they are mostly half tilled dirt, since most of the crops have just been harvested. They will lay quietly under snow for a few months, then in the spring we will once again see the big tractors driving up and down in long rows, tilling and planting, and fertilizing. We watch as the tiny baby plants peek through the soil, then grow into whatever new crop they might be. The corn is the most fun to watch, since it grows tall and is easy to identify. My grandson loves going to our little local grocery store and picking out that same ear of corn he watched grow. We put it in his little cart, take them home, shuck them, and talk about how yummy our local corn is as the butter runs down his chin.

We know which fields have horses and which have cows and rejoice when we see their babies suddenly appear in the spring. We drive past huge sheep farms, and play the game of looking for the pen that has the llamas mixed in. One day a pen will be full of white fluffy bodies and the next it will be empty. We talk about what that means, and it leads into conversations about where our food and fabrics come from.

We love going to the one Chinese restaurant in our closest little town. And our main Mexican spot. We feel good, supporting the local families who own them. When I’m shopping in our one local grocery store, I see the high schoolers in line, on their lunch hour, dressed in chaps and wearing cowboy hats. Almost all of them will go outside and crawl into a truck to get back to school. They are not being fashionable. I’m sure they get full use out of their attire when they get home after school and do real farm kid things.

I’ve learned to love living in the farmland, for the first time in my life. It took getting a chance to explore other places and getting new perspective. It helped that there was a little person in my back seat who also loved counting the cows and pointing out which tractor was red and which was green. But I finally learned the draw of life in the farmlands.

Ironically, we recently bought a cabin back in the mountains. For now, it’s our weekend cabin, but soon we’ll leave this farmland and retire up there. Far away from manure covered fields and irrigation pipes stretched far over crops. I’m excited to get back to the land of the moose and elk, but I’ll always carry the happy memories of our time in the valley. It’s where I learned to appreciate the beauty of every kind of life experience. I learned the value of being surrounded by fields instead of mountains or monuments.

It’s been a blessing I never saw coming.