I grew up next door to my grandparent’s dairy farm. We lived in a valley with foot hills in the distance. A tree line beyond the fields gave way to the river. It was a simplistic existence but as a children, we found many adventures in the fields around us. They were always lush and green from the manure that was sprayed. The cows were always dotting the landscape and then forming a line to be milked.
We would watch the coyotes and the circling of hawks and eagles. When a cow gave birth the turkey vultures would soar to the ground to feast on the after birth. We watched the cows in the fields and occasionally, if we were lucky, a deer or two. There was one amazing season, when a lone Elk made our little valley his home. We would hike out across the fields and observe his beauty.
The fields were a source of my childhood imagination. There was a large tree in the distance that had died. Its broken branches were skeletal. There were boards barely hanging onto its trunk. My Mom would tell me stories of a boy who lived across the fields and had built a tree house there. I used to imagine what it had looked like, long before it withered away becoming nothing but a twisted corpse. Across from it, was a pile of old branches. You could barely make them out from my bedroom window. That was where my grandfather used to pile the bodies of deceased cows. I have one vivid memory as a toddler, wandering across the field with my mom and seeing the newly dumped carcass of a young cow. That was of course, before there was laws regarding the disposal of dead animals. As I grew older, those twisted rotting branches became the, “Cow Graveyard.”
My brother and I would visit this hallowed area, collecting cow bones and teeth. It was a revered place and we would tell our friends it was haunted. One Halloween, my Mom created cavemen costumes for us and she sewed into them actual cow bones. We had the most authentic costumes in town.
The fields became a source of comfort when childhood became tough. I would watch the sunsets from our playhouse or sit by the old rickety fence, patting the horse that often times came to visit. I would disappear within those fields, looking up at the expensive homes in the hills. I would imagine hidden villages, places of escape and magical creatures that lived up there. What I didn’t realize then, is that those stories I invented, would later become a part of who I became.
Those fields were a place of emotional refuge but sometimes they provided physical safety. Our family minister flew ultralights for a hobby. During one flight, he faced some fierce wind and knew he couldn’t make it the airport in time. He soared towards our home, knowing that the fields would provide him the refuge he needed. In a rough landing, he managed to bring his vessel down into the field. He showed up at our door, disheveled and unhurt. For a couple of country kids, this was exciting. His ultralight remained in the field for the weekend. I remember seeing its form in the shrouded morning mist, marveling at all the adventures such a machine could go on.
As a teenager I would continue to stand before the fields, watching the stars in the sky and making plans. I wanted to leave our town and dusty farm. I would dream of cities like New York or L.A. I would imagine my own destiny unfolding. I would dream about boys, hoping that romance would someday find me. The ironic part is that I did leave but not for the city. I found a true home within those fields. I found myself. Now, that I have children of my own, I want them to rediscover what I left. I’m slowly searching for those fields again, embarking on a life out in the country, away from the city lights and noises. I want the simplicity of a star studded sky and the type of living that only nature can provide. Someday they’ll want to leave, just as I did, but I know those fields will bring them home.
