Wednesday, January 2, 2008
The sun was ferocious and yet no heat reached the ground. The sky was delft blue, frosted where it met the horizon. The view was spectacular and frigid, temperature a balmy 6 degrees Fahrenheit.
As my passenger and I drove along I was amazed at the sparse, Iowa winter countryside, though I have it memorized from years of exposure; and once again I was filled with desire to return. I am not sure what it is about the fields and lonely stretches of road that call like a siren to my heart. Could it be the calm eyes of the angus and Hereford faces I pass? Could it be the broken corn stalks, remnants of the harvest that seems so far, far past? I am sure if I returned to reside I would curse the bitter winters and the humid summers. But perhaps it is because I grew up here. Perhaps it is because when I drive these roads there are memories.
There is no promise of work here for my husband. My children’s preferred extra-curricular activity could not be pursued at the accustomed level. And yet every time I return there is a little voice that whispers, “Peace. Slow down. Stay.”
As I age, my joints and muscles suggest warmer views, consistent and moderate temperatures. My mind knows that instead of moving closer, I will most likely move farther afield. And if family moves, it is likely I would have no reason to return. That thought makes me sad. For now, I enjoy the step away from the hustle and bustle that I see from my front and back door at home most days.