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Nostalgia

4/7/2014

1 Comment

 
Picture
An old photograph from my archive of northeastern Iowa.
The other day I took the baby out for a walk in the meadow by our house.  It offers a beautiful view: softly rolling hills peppered with cows happily munching on grass, bordered by trees that make beautiful music as their branches gently sway in the breeze.  It's been a pretty nice summer so far with weather that's the been dry and warm, for the most part which, which is a welcome change to a girl who pines for the hot summer days of the American Midwest. 

On this given day I was filled with such a strong sense of nostalgia and could almost imagine that I was home.  It was hot enough that I could smell the dryness of the earth, which is a sensory sensation that really sparks vivid memories from a particular year from my childhood when we lived on my grandmother's farm.  My use of that word has probably given you a false image of the setting as it was no longer a working farm; in fact, it hadn't been used as a functioning farm in a great many years.  We lived in the big, white farmhouse that sat a bit higher than the rest of the land.  The yard was littered with old barns filled with disused relics of a more glorious past, a silo that had long ago lost its lid, a well and a very simple and rather sweet chicken coupe.  In all actuality we didn't live far from town and the nearest neighbor lived on just the other side of an electric fence.  But as a child, we might as well have been 100 miles from anywhere.  And although I often played with my cousins or had friends around to keep me company, I was often on my own.  I entertained myself with inventing exciting adventures and discoveries.  I played close to the earth and the smell of dirt, dust, grass and years-old machine oil pervaded my olfactory senses.  The oppressive heat smothered my skin and loved to feel the dry breeze brush over my face and ears as it gently found its way through my hair, occasionally whipping it across my face. 

When I walk in this meadow near my present-day house, I look out at those cows roaming the fields in the distance, relishing in the sounds so reminiscent of home, and a warm peace and sublime happiness fills my whole being.  In those moments I can imagine that I'm back in the beautiful prairies of Iowa - a place that will always be home to me, no matter where in the world I might live. 



1 Comment
John
4/7/2014 12:00:41 pm

What a wonderful essay, Erin. Unlike any 4th of July I can remember, today was beautiful, in the upper 70's and not humid. I made a simple picnic lunch (peanut butter and jelly!) and took Dad for a ride in the Bentley to Jubilee State Park. Amazingly, hardly anyone around. The corn, on the way, is over six feet tall now, after an amazingly nice spring and early summer (no farmer complaints, please). Just a magnificent day. We had our sandwiches, chips, and drinks (Dad, a vodka/Sprite, and me a Fat Tire ale) in a small shelter in the park. Nice memories.

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    Erin Singleton is an artist currently living in the bucolic seaside town of Marblehead, Mass. She loves to explore her creativity in her studio and in the kitchen.  She also loves to read, watch movies, spend time with friends and enjoy the great outdoors with her husband, Dave, and their daughter, Maisie. 

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