You Can Take the Boy Out of the Country: What My 5 Senses
Miss Most
It’s often been said, “you can take the boy out of the
country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.” I am walking, talking,
breathing, blogging proof that your roots always stick with you. I was told to
go where the wing would blow, but it blows away.
I grew up in the northwest corner of Missouri, near a little
town called Helena. The town itself has two hundred or less people. I had nine
kids in my elementary school class and lived about two miles down a gravel road
from the old school house. That sweet, simple, small town way of life has stuck
with me to this day.
I went to college at the University of Missouri, and I
thought that was plenty big enough. After graduating I landed a job in Saint
Louis, working in agri-advertising for Dekalb, Asgrow, Channel, and other
brands. Staying connected to rural folks and that way of life has become more
and more difficult, which is why I started MyAgLife blog and reaching out to
those who come from backgrounds like mine. I don’t want to be one who carries
on about their self, so I am gonna to get to it.
I miss big skies, starry nights, coyotes yipping, frogs
croaking and crickets chirping. I miss dropping a line, gravel roads and grain
dust. I could go on forever, but I am going to keep this list in relation to
the five senses.
Without any ado, here is what I am missing most about home
and country living:
- The smell
of Grandma’s fresh vegetables, with the earthy aroma staining my hands. If I close
my eyes I can still feel the grittiness of the cucumbers piled in my shirt,
used as a basket. The rough, prickly feel of the vines and leaves, and the sun
baked garden soil digging into my knees.
- Mom’s
flowerbeds, and the perfume that drifted in through open windows when the wind
blew on summer afternoons. Vibrant oranges, purples, reds, pinks yellows and
whites decorated the front porch and areas around the house.
- Silage. For
some reason, I love the smell of silage. Being at my dairying families’ houses
and smelling the thick, damp, heavy, pungent scent of warm silage. Winter winds
would swirl and bite at the fingers, but tarped over silage would steam up and
warm the hands.
- The smell
of burning leaves in the fall that would cling to jeans and sweatshirts. A
smoky aroma of its own, burning leaves in crisp fall air that nips at the skin
and raises hairs when the wind blows.
- The smell
of line-dried laundry. A scent so refreshing that I would actually be excited
to go to bed, dive nose first into the pillowcase and press my skin against the
cool sheets.
- The sight
of a harvest moon coming up over the east pasture and fields. The only sounds
coming from nature, and that bright, rustic orange ball climbing higher into
the darkening sky
- The gilded
autumn afternoons during the reaping season. I loved watching grain dust
drifting through an ember evening air during harvest.
- Stars. In
town, there are no stars. I miss the nights of gazing deep into clusters of
star soaked emptiness, and feeling wonderfully small.
There are limitless things to list that can only be found in
pastoral lifestyle. I could have listed the cordial nature and togetherness of
close-knit communities, or family, or anything else (of course those are very
important), but it is the subtleties and things often overlooked that really
make a place unique and even more worthy of homesickness. It feel it is
important to remember the details of home and a good way of life.
Tell us about your Ag Life!!! We need your story! E-mail Elizabeth and Jamie at foafeature@gmail.com
