Well, here I sit writing in the harsh light of day again. I could start to like this. Coffee, dogs, sunlight. What’s not to like? The Pumpkin Festival is happening in a couple of weeks! I’ve never been to one. I’ll let you all know if I win the pumpkin seed spitting contest.
For the past 48 hours the white noise of my life has been the hum of the grain dryer up the street. The first fire pit party of the season was last night, and we found the music getting louder as we tried to drown out the constant drone. This morning my daughter told me she thought she might die if she has to hear it for much longer. I find it comforting. Its a promise of plenty. How lucky we are to live in this land of hard work and promise of so much grain that it’s taking days to dry before it’s ready for the silos.
The kids and I traded the wail of sirens for the hum a grain dryer. With the exception of traveling to work, my life exists in a 2.5 mile radius. To some, this sounds hideous. I love it. I love being surrounded by the farms, and I love that when I go to our tiny downtown I’m not blending in with the crowd. There’s almost always someone that’s happy to run into me, and I them. I love that my retired neighbor quietly watches what’s going on, and that she gave the shy man around the corner a stern talking to about how she expected him to treat me when she noticed that he finally found the nerve to bring me flowers.
I came here with the intention of being lost, but instead I’ve been found. I never knew the sound of the grain drying could save a wretch like me.