There’s something magical about home. I was born and raised in the same farmhouse in Bagley, Iowa. You have to take 3 miles of gravel road to reach it. Every time I crest the last hill to the farm my heart skips a beat. I love this place. While I took it for granted as a child, I can look back on those memories now and realize I had as close to a Norman Rockwell life as anyone. Bagley had around 300 residents, and I’d estimate that at least 1/3 were relatives. I had seven cousins, grandparents, and four aunts and uncles that lived within 3 miles of us. Then I had even more cousins, second cousins and great aunts and uncles within 20 miles.
Summer days were filled with bike rides to the bridge and the creek, exploring the barn, riding beans, playing with kittens, swinging on the tire swing, playing in the tree house, garage saling, and roller skating in town on the concrete slab. Most of the time it was just my sister and me left with our own imaginations. It was simple and yet limitless. Our neighbors were all the nicest people you could ever hope to know.
Now MJ and I love bringing the kids out to the farm for the weekend. We love doing all of the things we use to do as kids, and waxing poetic on how life use to be. It wasn’t perfect, but it was darn good. Is this heaven? No, but I can see it from here.