As hard as it is to express my love for my homestead farm with the big red barn, three silos and an orange brick house, it is even harder to be displaced from it. My feet are in that soil, my breath catches on that cool morning air, my shoulders are kissed by the Noon sun.
Those tractors are still like extra limbs, with their pops, jolts and life within. The crickets from outside my childhood bedroom have resided in my ears. I still hear them, singing me to sleep with a late night car passing by acting as the harmony to their notes.
My life is based working with the large black and white docile creatures very few get to behold. A new birth on the farm is a treasure, one I have not witnessed for too long.
The three people I have loved for 23 years are there, watching each other grow in the heat of the sun, tan lines prominant and hair brittle with wind.
The connection as a farmer’s daughter is tight and everlasting. No matter where I go or who I am with, the big red barn with three silos and an orange brick house will always be in my soul.
I can’t thank my relatives and my mother and father for raising me and my brother here at this haven enough. It is my paradise.
(Thanks mom, for the photos.)