I take refuge in an oversized rugged, brown coat that protects me from the jagged darts of Nebraskan winds. Dust and autumn air oversaturate the breeze, whirling in harmony with the harsh winds. Cornstalks and soybean leaves provide constant background music, scraping and crunching against each other. The poignant stench of cow manure permeates my little nostrils, an exuberant and non-forgetful odor. I am seven years olds again, breathing in chunks of good ‘ol farm air, digesting serenity before my eyes.
My father was raised on a family farm, inhabited by a family comprised of six labor intensive sons, one hard-ass father, and an ever-warm-hearted mother. Its beauty and labor was passed down from my great-grandpa to his son (my grandpa), who has now bestowed it to the hands of his oldest son, my uncle Jim. Situated in the “middle-of-nowhere”, Nebraska, in between Loup City and Ord, I have grown fond to the pleasure, labor, and joy this place constantly brings to my heart.
The farm has become iconic to my extended family as a place of gathering. Every year, Thanksgiving stuffing and Christmas clam chowder are perfected at the expense of my grandma’s and aunts’ good cooking. These dinners are accompanied by card games, rallied up by my grandpa and uncles in adjacent rooms. Cribbage, Rummy, and cussing are the activities they excel in during these festive gatherings. But the real excitement is located outside amongst us grandchildren, perpetuated by the vastest playground a kid could ever dream of.
Racing four-wheelers across the unending acres of the farm always aroused the dare devils inside us. There was just something so exuberating about their reckless speed counterbalanced by choking winds smacking you in the face from every angle, oozing tears from the creases of your eyes, that made us kids pile on for the ride. But the destination was half the anticipation. After the fulfillment of riding, we’d group to the hay bales located in distinct spots on the farm. These bales rested in long paralleled rows, allowing for us to spend hours of tag as we ran across the maze of their bumpy surfaces.
These memories bring to me nothing but happiness, but my favorite moments spent on the farm have also been in solitude. Nowhere in the world exists a better place to contemplate and exercise a clear mind. A new path reveals an undiscovered corner within its vast campus. And whether this takes a couple minutes or a couple hours, the placid atmosphere of the farm provides reassurance that everything will be ok during depressing times; that the anger inside my heart is extraneous; that the tears on my cheeks are only temporary; that the happiness inside my soul can endure forever. Beyond the iconic gatherings experienced with my family members, the farm has been my hug when needed, my high-five when asked for, and my secret-keeper; it has been my compatible companion.
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