Midwest Girl

I’m a Midwest girl. I’ve never thought of myself that way before. But an hours long drive through middle America made me realize the truth of it.

I’ve seen mountains—imposing, beautiful, majestic. I’ve been in the ocean and the Arctic. There’s no end (literally—the known universe is about 93 Billion Light Years wide; more on that later) to the mind-blowing beauty and intricacy of this amazing world.

But…there are reasons they call it the Heart of America, and they’re not all about marketing. Probably the many road trips we took as a family when I was young (—you know, the ones before screens and streaming and TikTok—heck, before air-conditioning) planted the seeds of this affection of mine. I’m sure the fact that I’ve spent the majority of my life here makes me biased. And I’m sure that whatever place holds your heart, it is just as deserving. This corner of the world doesn’t necessarily hold the most incredible views or wonders. But there’s something about the rolling hills, and the lines of hundred year old oaks standing guard over barns and silos, the plowed rows and grazing cows and slowly sliding clouds of brilliant white. Farmhouses with flags flying in the front yard, outbuildings bleached and weathered from years of sun and rain, all reminders of harder, but simpler, times. Still, progress is good and its imprint is unmistakable—see the giant windmills marching in rows like silent sentinels above the bucolic landscape, keeping time.

It’s a beautiful place, this place we call home. Wherever we’re from, wherever we go, there will be vistas of beauty that will fill us with wonder if we take the time to see them.

Summer is a great time for a road trip. And if you’re really brave, ditch the screens and look around. The kids will complain. But maybe someday they’ll write a poem about it.

Ode to Home, November 2009

Sunrise, blue skies,

Fallow fields at rest in mist of morning

Silhouettes of sleeping trees

Border lining, land defining

Shelt’ring in the wait for spring.

Light ‘limned clouds in azure heaven, stitched with vees of flying geese

Horses grazing, grasses swaying, rolling hills of God’s own earth.

Barns and silos, rises, hollows–and a thousand shades of green.

Sights and sounds and smells remembered,

missed and cherished–

now and ever

Home.