I touched the earth this weekend, opened it wide to feed my family and nourish my soul, walking through the circle of life to take my place in the heartland, my fingertips grazing the ghosts of prairie women past.
With my own hands I plucked feathers from my flock, gripping the feet of a still-warm bird in the deafening silence of the yard, cicadas and the flapping of a thousand wings orchestrating my first butchering experience. As I shook damp down from my hands, a butterfly alighted on the plucking table, her languishing wings dipping gently in the breeze. She stayed there a moment, then fluttered off, leaving a breath of thanks with the chicken I held.
This wasn't an easy experience for me, I flinch at the sight of roadkill, avert my eyes when my husband and his brothers show proud pictures of their hunt. I do not like to hurt animals, but have felt a driving need to be able to bring things to my table that we have cared for ourselves, that we have nurtured and selected and weeded and plucked. I do not want my children to grow up in this land of agriculture thinking that their meal comes in wrapped styrofoam, resplendent with antibiotics and growth hormones and mega-syllabled chemicals.
I thank the earth for her bounty. I thank her as I tease the stubborn grass from the onion shoot, clearing a space around the food so that it can breathe. I thank her as I separate the squash from the vine and again later as I slice it with my baby onion to feed myself and my children. I thank her as my son's sturdy hands find hidden green beans, plucking them in a joyful scavenger hunt. I thank her as the wind rustles through my corn like a friend hiding. I thank her for my land, my water, my sunshine, and my life.
I thank her for being a place to teach my children about their place in the vast universe, their place on our postage stamp farm, in our food chain and as caretakers of the earth to come.
Showing posts with label living in Iowa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label living in Iowa. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Little House on the Prairie
If you are visiting from the Ultimate Blog Party 2010, click here for my post!
I have always, always, always, thought myself to be an urban chick. I totally dig the city vibe, love the city sounds, the culture, the ability to get good sushi in minutes. That kind of stuff. I pictured myself taking public transportation to work, stopping in for yoga on my lunch break, and getting the chance to see limited-release films in a theater when they open and not through my Netflix cue. Well, I probably imagined seeing those films on VHS because Netflix wasn't around 20 years ago.
But I find myself captivated by my life right now. I can't wait to get home and shove my children out the door so that we can explore our yard, our world. Our own little bit of Earth. Maybe it stems from my girlhood adoration of the "Little House" books. Maybe it is the push for Community Supported Agriculture. I'm not sure, but I am awakening.
I have lived in Iowa nearly all of my life. I have been surrounded by agriculture for 30 years. It always felt like a backdrop, like the scenery for a play. This is my life, it is set in Iowa and we know that because there are cornfields. And livestock. And tractors rumbling up the gravel road. But the action of my life has always taken place indoors -- in a theatre, in a classroom, in my home.
I am suddenly so very excited to look into my summer -- to see my huge vegetable garden spreading wide, reaching deep into the earth to find nutrients, sucking them from the soil into their ripe flesh. I hear the chickens clucking as Scott plucks their brown eggs from their nest boxes. Serving venison stew from the deer that he and his brothers hunted. I imagine entire meals cooked from ingredients we raised -- the vegetables, the starch, the fruit, the protein are all from our own hands.
Suddenly, it occurred to me that if I am not buying produce, chicken, stew meat or eggs, I can afford the fancy, organic, non-hormon-ed or antibiotic-ed socially responsible milk and cheese for my kids. I don't have to walk by the organic whole-grain pasta staring longingly at it any more. I wonder about what it would cost to buy a side of organic free-range beef or pork. I think I'll research that tonight... I imagine churning butter from organic cream -- I have left cream whipping in the mixer for just long enough that I accidentally made butter, what if I could do it on purpose? Maybe there's someone who would barter milk for eggs? Homemade ice cream with lusty red raspberries bouncing in the bowl.
My country life is bursting and bountiful. At lease I hope it will be. I could run completely out of steam when I need to weed the garden yet again in July when it is 95 degrees out and my allergies are insufferable. Or I could thrive like the plants in this Iowa soil, no longer seeing my earth as a backdrop, but as an integral part of my identity. I have always wanted to be Laura Ingalls Wilder, maybe this is my chance.
I have always, always, always, thought myself to be an urban chick. I totally dig the city vibe, love the city sounds, the culture, the ability to get good sushi in minutes. That kind of stuff. I pictured myself taking public transportation to work, stopping in for yoga on my lunch break, and getting the chance to see limited-release films in a theater when they open and not through my Netflix cue. Well, I probably imagined seeing those films on VHS because Netflix wasn't around 20 years ago.
But I find myself captivated by my life right now. I can't wait to get home and shove my children out the door so that we can explore our yard, our world. Our own little bit of Earth. Maybe it stems from my girlhood adoration of the "Little House" books. Maybe it is the push for Community Supported Agriculture. I'm not sure, but I am awakening.
I have lived in Iowa nearly all of my life. I have been surrounded by agriculture for 30 years. It always felt like a backdrop, like the scenery for a play. This is my life, it is set in Iowa and we know that because there are cornfields. And livestock. And tractors rumbling up the gravel road. But the action of my life has always taken place indoors -- in a theatre, in a classroom, in my home.
I am suddenly so very excited to look into my summer -- to see my huge vegetable garden spreading wide, reaching deep into the earth to find nutrients, sucking them from the soil into their ripe flesh. I hear the chickens clucking as Scott plucks their brown eggs from their nest boxes. Serving venison stew from the deer that he and his brothers hunted. I imagine entire meals cooked from ingredients we raised -- the vegetables, the starch, the fruit, the protein are all from our own hands.
Suddenly, it occurred to me that if I am not buying produce, chicken, stew meat or eggs, I can afford the fancy, organic, non-hormon-ed or antibiotic-ed socially responsible milk and cheese for my kids. I don't have to walk by the organic whole-grain pasta staring longingly at it any more. I wonder about what it would cost to buy a side of organic free-range beef or pork. I think I'll research that tonight... I imagine churning butter from organic cream -- I have left cream whipping in the mixer for just long enough that I accidentally made butter, what if I could do it on purpose? Maybe there's someone who would barter milk for eggs? Homemade ice cream with lusty red raspberries bouncing in the bowl.
My country life is bursting and bountiful. At lease I hope it will be. I could run completely out of steam when I need to weed the garden yet again in July when it is 95 degrees out and my allergies are insufferable. Or I could thrive like the plants in this Iowa soil, no longer seeing my earth as a backdrop, but as an integral part of my identity. I have always wanted to be Laura Ingalls Wilder, maybe this is my chance.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Ultimate Blog Party 2010
Hello! Although I am not really a new mom blogger (I have been blogging since August of 2008), I am a sort-of-newish public blog mama since February of 2010. Don't ask me why I felt the need to suddenly go public with my blog, I'm not sure I really have a reason for it. I do know that it seems like a fairly healthy way to have a midlife crisis, right?
Anyway, if you are dropping by to join the party, please overlook the dog fur and kid toys -- I've got two of each and trying to pretend they don't exist is pointless. Grab a seat, but don't be surprised if my son begs to play Star Wars guys with you or my daughter drags you to the kid-sized table where she's sticking glittery stickers to a piece of pink construction paper. Or if my husband kidnaps you to the basement where we're keeping our first brood of Buff Orpington chicks, at least until he gets the coop built. Did you know that they have automatic chicken coop doors? I didn't know that until yesterday, either.
My life is pretty ordinary, and I'm sure that is the biggest reason I didn't go public with my blog when I first started writing. I was a good student, married my college sweetheart, moved to a mid-Atlantic state when he was in graduate school, returned to Iowa when he was offered a job about 35 miles from where he grew up -- a big surprise for us because he's a theatre designer and this is, well, this is Iowa. We got a dog, bought a little house, gutted it, got another dog, and renovated the house.
Then we decided to start a family. After an ectopic pregnancy, we had our wonderful son in June of 2005 and made him the big brother of a little sister in September of 2007. We are currently battling unexpected secondary infertility. I swallowed my first dose of Clomid about an hour ago. I don't feel any more fertile yet...
This past November, we bought a big old farmhouse out in the country. This has been a bit of an adjustment for us (mice. Mice. Mice! MICE!), though we are eager to put in a gi-gundous garden this spring and, as I said, we have a small flock of chickens started in the basement. Because organic brown eggs sound super, don't they?
Here are some of my quirks:
1. I like to be funny. Sarcastic, even -- I know, SHOCKER! If you don't want to read a blog where the author admits her shortcomings and pokes fun at herself, you shouldn't read mine.
2. I like to write. I've never hosted a give-away, nor have I monetized my blog. Yet. If I end up pregnant with Clomid quintuplets, I might have to change that policy.
3. I am a fan of the chain description: words-tied-together-with-hyphens-to-make-a-funny-run-on-point. Yep. I like me my hyphens... And ellipses...
4. I like comments. OK, who doesn't. I follow up diligently. Really, I do!
5. I'm a lunch-hour blogger, so if my schedule gets keee-razy, I don't get a chance to give my blog or bloggy friends the love. I hope you can forgive me, but I gots-ta pay the bills. My hubby works in arts education, 'nuff said.
6. I try to be positive and witty and clever, but the struggle we've had trying to conceive baby #3 has stretched my good humor to the limit. Some of my more recent posts were a little darker than I would normally write. But, since I am above all an honest blogger, writing something that was all cheery and rah-rah-rah when I was feeling blah-blah-blah was resoundingly fake, so I didn't do it.
Here are some of my most favorite posts:
Malfunctioning Bedroom Devices
Brontophobia: Fear of Storms
Sleep
In case my blog gets pulled for a prize, here are my top three choices:
US6 – Hand Stamped Personalized Necklace valued at $48 The Double Stacked A Lot Of Love.
Provided by: Kristen’s Custom Creations I lved this design and don't have any mother's jewelry!
US97 – One winner will receive a beautiful handmade wire and colorful bead necklace from the mission-driven company, Ana Patricia! just thought this was so much fun!
USC 10 – One winner will receive a beautiful handmade glass pendant with their choice of chain. The piece is made by me with care using glass and paper. The design I will give away is called “Lilac“. I fell in love with this -- so very pretty!
Other prizes in which I'm interested: US39, US44, US66, US110, and USC19. My son is 4 and daughter is 2, so anything appropriate for them is fine, too!
Anyway, if you are dropping by to join the party, please overlook the dog fur and kid toys -- I've got two of each and trying to pretend they don't exist is pointless. Grab a seat, but don't be surprised if my son begs to play Star Wars guys with you or my daughter drags you to the kid-sized table where she's sticking glittery stickers to a piece of pink construction paper. Or if my husband kidnaps you to the basement where we're keeping our first brood of Buff Orpington chicks, at least until he gets the coop built. Did you know that they have automatic chicken coop doors? I didn't know that until yesterday, either.
My life is pretty ordinary, and I'm sure that is the biggest reason I didn't go public with my blog when I first started writing. I was a good student, married my college sweetheart, moved to a mid-Atlantic state when he was in graduate school, returned to Iowa when he was offered a job about 35 miles from where he grew up -- a big surprise for us because he's a theatre designer and this is, well, this is Iowa. We got a dog, bought a little house, gutted it, got another dog, and renovated the house.
Then we decided to start a family. After an ectopic pregnancy, we had our wonderful son in June of 2005 and made him the big brother of a little sister in September of 2007. We are currently battling unexpected secondary infertility. I swallowed my first dose of Clomid about an hour ago. I don't feel any more fertile yet...
This past November, we bought a big old farmhouse out in the country. This has been a bit of an adjustment for us (mice. Mice. Mice! MICE!), though we are eager to put in a gi-gundous garden this spring and, as I said, we have a small flock of chickens started in the basement. Because organic brown eggs sound super, don't they?
Here are some of my quirks:
1. I like to be funny. Sarcastic, even -- I know, SHOCKER! If you don't want to read a blog where the author admits her shortcomings and pokes fun at herself, you shouldn't read mine.
2. I like to write. I've never hosted a give-away, nor have I monetized my blog. Yet. If I end up pregnant with Clomid quintuplets, I might have to change that policy.
3. I am a fan of the chain description: words-tied-together-with-hyphens-to-make-a-funny-run-on-point. Yep. I like me my hyphens... And ellipses...
4. I like comments. OK, who doesn't. I follow up diligently. Really, I do!
5. I'm a lunch-hour blogger, so if my schedule gets keee-razy, I don't get a chance to give my blog or bloggy friends the love. I hope you can forgive me, but I gots-ta pay the bills. My hubby works in arts education, 'nuff said.
6. I try to be positive and witty and clever, but the struggle we've had trying to conceive baby #3 has stretched my good humor to the limit. Some of my more recent posts were a little darker than I would normally write. But, since I am above all an honest blogger, writing something that was all cheery and rah-rah-rah when I was feeling blah-blah-blah was resoundingly fake, so I didn't do it.
Here are some of my most favorite posts:
Malfunctioning Bedroom Devices
Brontophobia: Fear of Storms
Sleep
In case my blog gets pulled for a prize, here are my top three choices:
US6 – Hand Stamped Personalized Necklace valued at $48 The Double Stacked A Lot Of Love.
Provided by: Kristen’s Custom Creations I lved this design and don't have any mother's jewelry!
US97 – One winner will receive a beautiful handmade wire and colorful bead necklace from the mission-driven company, Ana Patricia! just thought this was so much fun!
USC 10 – One winner will receive a beautiful handmade glass pendant with their choice of chain. The piece is made by me with care using glass and paper. The design I will give away is called “Lilac“. I fell in love with this -- so very pretty!
Other prizes in which I'm interested: US39, US44, US66, US110, and USC19. My son is 4 and daughter is 2, so anything appropriate for them is fine, too!
Monday, January 25, 2010
A piece of cake
What a fun weekend! Milo had a friend over for a sleep-over and both little boys did great, though they were so wound up it took them until 10:30 to fall asleep. Which would have been fine, but on one of their umpteen trips down the stairs, they realized that they "forgot" Violet, who was in her crib trying to sleep. At least until they charged back upstairs to get her and realized that neither of them could possibly get her out of the crib. She did fall asleep before they did, but I had to pull the "Daddy will get grumpy" trick on her.
For some reason, even though I will completely admit that I am usually more apt to be short-tempered with the kids, Violet will tell you that daddy is the only one who gets grumpy. In fact, I can be in the middle of a grumpy moment and ask her, "Is mommy grumpy?" and she'll answer, "No, Daddy's gwumpy." I don't know why she thinks that, but sometimes the only I can get her to lie down in the crib and stop asking me to nurse is to pretend that I've heard someone on the steps and tell her that daddy's on his way up. She whispers, "I lie down so daddy doesn't get gwumpy!" This even works when he's not home... poor gullible babe...
Saturday morning brought on a flurry of household activity. The boys were playing Wii and Violet was content coloring, painting, and playing with her babies, so I scrubbed the dining room floor and Scott moved our big old TV into the basement in a way that was a complete tribute to his maternal grandfather, Harry. You see, Harry was sort of an impatient fellow and was generally hell-bent on doing things on his own schedule, the rest of the world be damned. He was infamously stubborn and prone to ramming through things without thinking of all of the options -- or consequences, for that matter.
Scott had been waiting for another adult male to come over to our house so that he and the other adult male could move the huge TV down to our basement to be set up with the treadmill. Due to weather issues, no man under the age of 60 has been out to our house since before Christmas except for my little brother and he helped Scott move the treadmill to the basement. For some reason, moving the TV was going to happen this weekend, come hell or high water. Or mushy snow, in this case.
It started off innocently enough -- Scott says, "I think I figured out a way to move the TV downstairs."
Oh, really?
"Yeah. I'm going to strap it to my wheeled cart and take it out the back door."
Oh, really?
"I figure I'll get it down the steps, then I'll put it on a sled and drag it around the the basement door. I won't have any problems getting it in that door and down into the basement."
Why didn't I grab the video camera?
He got the TV out the back door, down the steps, and onto the sled. He pulled the sled half-way around the side of the house, where it hit a bump in the snow. Then the TV and the cart to which it was still strapped, tumbled sideways into a snow bank. Scott righted the TV, paused for a second, and decided to skip the sled, so he dragged the TV on the cart the remaining 15 feet to the sidewalk. True to his prediction, getting the TV back into the house and down to the basement was a piece of cake. Especially when you think that the TV was frosted with snow...
For some reason, even though I will completely admit that I am usually more apt to be short-tempered with the kids, Violet will tell you that daddy is the only one who gets grumpy. In fact, I can be in the middle of a grumpy moment and ask her, "Is mommy grumpy?" and she'll answer, "No, Daddy's gwumpy." I don't know why she thinks that, but sometimes the only I can get her to lie down in the crib and stop asking me to nurse is to pretend that I've heard someone on the steps and tell her that daddy's on his way up. She whispers, "I lie down so daddy doesn't get gwumpy!" This even works when he's not home... poor gullible babe...
Saturday morning brought on a flurry of household activity. The boys were playing Wii and Violet was content coloring, painting, and playing with her babies, so I scrubbed the dining room floor and Scott moved our big old TV into the basement in a way that was a complete tribute to his maternal grandfather, Harry. You see, Harry was sort of an impatient fellow and was generally hell-bent on doing things on his own schedule, the rest of the world be damned. He was infamously stubborn and prone to ramming through things without thinking of all of the options -- or consequences, for that matter.
Scott had been waiting for another adult male to come over to our house so that he and the other adult male could move the huge TV down to our basement to be set up with the treadmill. Due to weather issues, no man under the age of 60 has been out to our house since before Christmas except for my little brother and he helped Scott move the treadmill to the basement. For some reason, moving the TV was going to happen this weekend, come hell or high water. Or mushy snow, in this case.
It started off innocently enough -- Scott says, "I think I figured out a way to move the TV downstairs."
Oh, really?
"Yeah. I'm going to strap it to my wheeled cart and take it out the back door."
Oh, really?
"I figure I'll get it down the steps, then I'll put it on a sled and drag it around the the basement door. I won't have any problems getting it in that door and down into the basement."
Why didn't I grab the video camera?
He got the TV out the back door, down the steps, and onto the sled. He pulled the sled half-way around the side of the house, where it hit a bump in the snow. Then the TV and the cart to which it was still strapped, tumbled sideways into a snow bank. Scott righted the TV, paused for a second, and decided to skip the sled, so he dragged the TV on the cart the remaining 15 feet to the sidewalk. True to his prediction, getting the TV back into the house and down to the basement was a piece of cake. Especially when you think that the TV was frosted with snow...
Monday, October 26, 2009
If these walls could talk...
Eleven days until we close on both houses. Eleven days...
Yes, the selling part of selling a house without a realtor was actually pretty easy. Assembling the documents necessary for sale was not too taxing. Stressing about all of it has stunk like earthworms after a drenching rain.
I'm somewhat torn as the couple who has bought our house seems lovely, yet completely handy-man-helpless. As a result, we've had to make some last minute repairs and they now want to inspect the repairs. As if they would really know what was different... Some of the stuff was pretty minor -- like replacing a pane of glass in a window. They wanted to know if we'd had an estimate done to fix it. Umm... nope. The estimate is $15.00 for a sheet of glass and about an hour of Scott's time to replace the glass, re-glaze, and put a couple of coats of paint on it. Woo-hoo... But we did it as we were concerned that they would try to extract money for a $300.00 repair or something from the price of the house.
That's the part that has me a little stressed. We're not anonymous to the buyers. In fact, they know where our new house is as they, too, looked at it. Their adorable little daughters will be in school with our kids and we're bound to run into them here and there around town.
Are they gonna talk smack about us if, five years down the road one of our repairs goes bad? Are we forever going to feel like we need to hold our breaths lest a completely normal conversation contain the words, "So the deck fell in last night..." Even though the deck is actually in better shape than it was when we moved in, that kind of anxiety. We didn't sell them a lemon. We disclosed everything that we knew about the property, and then some. We completed all five of their requested repairs. We're ready to move onward and upward and north of town to our new home.
I'm sure there will be a moment of sadness as we close the door for the last time, knowing that we brought our babies home there and that our first memories as a family were created there. Thank goodness for photos! Thousands of photos documenting every step as we redid the house, scraping lath and plaster from the walls, re-wiring, re-plumbing, re-everything-ing. Images of my kids in the yard, sleeping in their beds, bathing in the tub... Snapshots of holidays and birthdays and just the joy of day-to-day life... These will always live on in my heart.
But it's time for a new family to grow in the house. And I'm not sure that the sole factor of owning the same house ties us an any way to the new family, much as they try to invite us for dinner and chit-chat as if we were friends. Maybe we will be some day? Who knows? Maybe Violet won't remember living there when she's invited over for a birthday party... I don't know. I do worry that we might get a panicked call some day, "Help! There XYZ happening and we don't have so much as a hammer! What do we do?" Will we be tied to the house as a retained handyman? Offered dinner to "Please come fix ABC!" How bizarre is it to step into a place that holds so many cherished memories, to reach for a glass and open the cabinets to find someone else's stuff? To sigh over wallpaper they stripped, not knowing how arduous the task of hanging it was -- to feel like a stranger in one's old home.
Truth be told, we never expected to be in the house for almost nine years. It is a starter home and we weren't planning to stick around the area for a decade. Our plan was to get Scott some teaching experience, then move to a larger university. But the rigors of working at a larger school, the academic pressures required to gain tenure seemed detrimental to what we wanted in life and with our family. And now we're staying put, just as surely as we thought we'd be leaving in 2005, 2006, 2007... We never intended to move back to Iowa, and now, it appears, we never intend to leave.
Sometimes I feel like I am shoehorned into a life I wasn't intended to live -- that my psychic twin is living on a coast, dining daily on sushi and living in a yoga studio and the I am the imagined twin planting my roots back into the Iowa soil where I was raised. I daydream about the places I'd like to go and the things I'd like to see and know that, for now, it's going to be a while before we can afford to travel the globe.
But then I take Milo to preschool and one of his classmates squeals, "It's Milo! Hi, Milo!" and he lights up, thrilled that his friend is glad to see him and I know that we are making the right choice for our family by living in a place that has soil rich enough to sustain our needs. Mount Vernon isn't a bad place -- it's an affluent, liberal, artsy community. I believe that it is safe, it has good schools, and we can reach nearly everything we need by driving a short distance to Iowa City or Cedar Rapids. Our community is growing, and if we were to get involved more deeply, we could have a large impact on the direction it takes as it grows. This is not a bad place to take root.
And so, little house in town, we're leaving you for a larger house on the prairie. I hope that you bring your new family as much fortune as we had while living there. Adieu...
Yes, the selling part of selling a house without a realtor was actually pretty easy. Assembling the documents necessary for sale was not too taxing. Stressing about all of it has stunk like earthworms after a drenching rain.
I'm somewhat torn as the couple who has bought our house seems lovely, yet completely handy-man-helpless. As a result, we've had to make some last minute repairs and they now want to inspect the repairs. As if they would really know what was different... Some of the stuff was pretty minor -- like replacing a pane of glass in a window. They wanted to know if we'd had an estimate done to fix it. Umm... nope. The estimate is $15.00 for a sheet of glass and about an hour of Scott's time to replace the glass, re-glaze, and put a couple of coats of paint on it. Woo-hoo... But we did it as we were concerned that they would try to extract money for a $300.00 repair or something from the price of the house.
That's the part that has me a little stressed. We're not anonymous to the buyers. In fact, they know where our new house is as they, too, looked at it. Their adorable little daughters will be in school with our kids and we're bound to run into them here and there around town.
Are they gonna talk smack about us if, five years down the road one of our repairs goes bad? Are we forever going to feel like we need to hold our breaths lest a completely normal conversation contain the words, "So the deck fell in last night..." Even though the deck is actually in better shape than it was when we moved in, that kind of anxiety. We didn't sell them a lemon. We disclosed everything that we knew about the property, and then some. We completed all five of their requested repairs. We're ready to move onward and upward and north of town to our new home.
I'm sure there will be a moment of sadness as we close the door for the last time, knowing that we brought our babies home there and that our first memories as a family were created there. Thank goodness for photos! Thousands of photos documenting every step as we redid the house, scraping lath and plaster from the walls, re-wiring, re-plumbing, re-everything-ing. Images of my kids in the yard, sleeping in their beds, bathing in the tub... Snapshots of holidays and birthdays and just the joy of day-to-day life... These will always live on in my heart.
But it's time for a new family to grow in the house. And I'm not sure that the sole factor of owning the same house ties us an any way to the new family, much as they try to invite us for dinner and chit-chat as if we were friends. Maybe we will be some day? Who knows? Maybe Violet won't remember living there when she's invited over for a birthday party... I don't know. I do worry that we might get a panicked call some day, "Help! There XYZ happening and we don't have so much as a hammer! What do we do?" Will we be tied to the house as a retained handyman? Offered dinner to "Please come fix ABC!" How bizarre is it to step into a place that holds so many cherished memories, to reach for a glass and open the cabinets to find someone else's stuff? To sigh over wallpaper they stripped, not knowing how arduous the task of hanging it was -- to feel like a stranger in one's old home.
Truth be told, we never expected to be in the house for almost nine years. It is a starter home and we weren't planning to stick around the area for a decade. Our plan was to get Scott some teaching experience, then move to a larger university. But the rigors of working at a larger school, the academic pressures required to gain tenure seemed detrimental to what we wanted in life and with our family. And now we're staying put, just as surely as we thought we'd be leaving in 2005, 2006, 2007... We never intended to move back to Iowa, and now, it appears, we never intend to leave.
Sometimes I feel like I am shoehorned into a life I wasn't intended to live -- that my psychic twin is living on a coast, dining daily on sushi and living in a yoga studio and the I am the imagined twin planting my roots back into the Iowa soil where I was raised. I daydream about the places I'd like to go and the things I'd like to see and know that, for now, it's going to be a while before we can afford to travel the globe.
But then I take Milo to preschool and one of his classmates squeals, "It's Milo! Hi, Milo!" and he lights up, thrilled that his friend is glad to see him and I know that we are making the right choice for our family by living in a place that has soil rich enough to sustain our needs. Mount Vernon isn't a bad place -- it's an affluent, liberal, artsy community. I believe that it is safe, it has good schools, and we can reach nearly everything we need by driving a short distance to Iowa City or Cedar Rapids. Our community is growing, and if we were to get involved more deeply, we could have a large impact on the direction it takes as it grows. This is not a bad place to take root.
And so, little house in town, we're leaving you for a larger house on the prairie. I hope that you bring your new family as much fortune as we had while living there. Adieu...
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