I remember the quiet the most.
When I first moved to Colorado two years ago and walked on the trails that bordered farmland in the evenings, the quiet and the smell of the earth sparked memories of my childhood in Michigan.
It reminded me of being out in the country, at my grandma’s house, my aunt’s house… surrounded by fields and so.much.quiet.
When I was six, we moved from small town Michigan to busy Southern California. I quickly forgot the quiet and grew accustomed to the scent of smog and the noise of overcrowded streets. There’s a certain excitement in the bustle of a big city (Ok, more like suburbia, but it’s a big suburbia), but not much quiet. Everything is fast; fast food, fast driving, always on the go, always rushing to get somewhere. It seeps into you and becomes your norm.
This last weekend my husband and I packed up our 3 kids and made the long drive to Michigan to visit my grandma and my extended family. Our kids had never been to the town where I once lived and had never met many of my family members; heck, I hadn’t even been there since I was first married eight or nine years ago.
When I stepped outside my grandma’s home in Michigan last week and heard the wind rustling the corn leaves, I was immediately transported to my childhood on that same farm. I was young when we moved to California, but I still have plenty of memories of catching frogs in the ditches, playing hide-and-go-seek in the corn fields (whose idea was that? It seems ridiculously unsafe now that I’m grown), drinking from the outdoor water pump (I am still surprised no one got tetanus from the rusted water cup) and exploring the dilapidated barn.
As I’ve grown, I’ve fallen more and more in love with the country and farm houses and open spaces. I’ve got to believe it is something deeply seeded in me from childhood. It’s become my dream to one day live on a small farm with a rustic barn used solely for the purpose of throwing parties (I’m still my mother’s daughter, after all, and I don’t need actual animals – except maybe a chicken or two for the fresh eggs) – you know, some real Martha Stewart stuff.
Aside from the quiet of the country, my childhood is full of memories of time spent with family.
Living in Colorado has been lonely at times since we have no family here. And this weekend when I watched my kids playing and laughing with cousins they’ve only just met, acting like old friends already, and when I saw them catching frogs and lightening bugs, having water balloon fights and just generally having fun with family, it hurt my heart a little knowing it was temporary.
When I was a kid, family gatherings were regular and normal. Many of our gatherings were centered around food (as all gatherings should be), but I also remember late night card games, playing ghost in the graveyard with my cousins, running around outside until we exhausted ourselves, lots of laughter from the adults and falling asleep in a lap because no one wanted to go home just yet.
My grandparents were often the center of our gatherings and usually hosted. When I walked into my late grandpa’s shed this weekend, I remembered stories of how he would spend hours out there tinkering around. He loved collecting random parts and metal and nuts and bolts and who knows what else. He would probably never use any of it, but if you were in need of something, gosh darnit, he had it. I paused for a minute and pictured his kind face and his laugh, and I smiled.
My grandma has worked hard all her life. She ran the farm with my grandpa and managed to raise 6 kids at the same time. She is a rockstar. She still gets up at 5 am and cooks my uncle breakfast. She still goes outside and hoes her garden and picks raspberries. She still crochets (each of my family members has quite the collection of grandma’s washcloths) and attends church every Sunday, and she is in her NINETIES. Despite her age, she works hard and loves harder.
My family is special and I miss them.
This weekend was completely nostalgic, but it also created new memories. Seeing my kids running on the same farm that I once did and playing with the same old toys that my grandma used to pull out of the closet for me was so special. I want them to know how wonderful my family is, even if they are far away. I want them to get a taste of being surrounded and loved by so many, just as I did when I was a kid.
This trip was refreshing and healing for me. It was a memory I won’t soon forget and a trip I hope to repeat soon. Because everybody needs a little quiet and a little lot of family in their lives sometimes.
(P.S. Family: I love you)