It all begins when the farmer takes a wife. So it was for my colleague in the dell, and so it was for me.
I was a relatively happy slacker, a few months out of college and no closer to a job when, very irresponsibly, indeed, I asked Lis to marry me. And, just as crazily, she said, “Yes.”
So the slacker took a job.
But hardly in the dell. Our first move was to New York , miles and years and lives from here, when the farm was unimagined – and when, as a die-hard city rat (self-styled), I’d have scoffed at such a suggestion. Lis longed to have a car when we lived in New York , in order to escape it now and again; my view was, “Where would you want to go? – we’re already in New York .”
And then the slacker took a child. We’d always agreed we’d go where one of our families was at baby time. Lis is from Concord , Mass. , I’m from here (Glenview , originally). And here there was a job and a house, and my parents who had only one kid, versus the five siblings Lis has ringed around Boston . So, with Aly, our first, on her way, Chicago it was.
Domesticity, then, has driven my major decisions – all of which have been far removed from my original expectations. I told myself I’d marry late, if ever; I’d always live in Chicago ; then I’d never leave New York ; then I was home to stay in Glenview . I no longer expect to ever be right about such things or even try to predict what might be next.
And is there any environment more emblematic of domesticity than a farm? The farmer takes a wife. The wife takes a child. And on, and on, creating an expanding circle of relation and interdependence, a hopefully peaceable kingdom.
I love our farm and am always happy when I’m there (well, when I’m not in despair over a broke-down tractor, or barn door I can’t budge, or some other act of fix-itivity beyond my ken). But is there any possibility that I’d be in such a place on my own? Not bloody likely. As a guy alone, I would, undoubtedly, occupy a simple man cave, Oscar Madison style.
But Lis loves this place in a way that’s so irresistible that I can’t help but share it, even when oppressed by all of its demands. She loves riding the tractor, helping with the endless chores, gazing across the fields, just breathing the air.
But Old Mill Creek feels just like home to her because of the openness, the history (relatively young though it is compared to Concord ), the horseyness, the beauty of the place, all of which fit her like a well-worn and -loved glove
And that makes it home to me. This farm would be inconceivable without Lis. She’s its heart. And, after places chosen for different necessities – work, family -- this is the place we chose together, for us.
She always said she’d follow me anywhere. And she has. But, at the same time, I’ve been following her -- all the way home.
Happy Birthday, Girl!
This is my favorite
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