When I was a kid growing up in New York City, all I could think about was how neat it would be to live in the country. I'm not saying that there weren't some definite benefits to living in the Big Apple, far from it. When other kids took school field trips to the dairy, or to watch them make apple cider, I was taking school trips to museums, planetariums, Shakespeare in the Park, The Statue of Liberty and the top of the Empire State Building. Broadway matinees were my reward for making it into the Honors English classes and getting A's. Still ....
... still, every year I would count the days until summer vacation because that meant I could go and spend a week at my cousins' home out on Long Island. Back then parts of Long Island were still being developed so it was no stretch of the imagination to see a housing development going up within view of a potato or dairy farm. My cousins' Dad loved to garden. In the days when you could carry plants home on a plane from other countries, he would make visits to is family in Italy and come home with cuttings to put in his own garden. There is nothing like the taste of a fresh fig just picked and still warm, or popping a strawberry in your mouth for every one you picked! I got to visit nearby farms where they bought fresh produce and eggs. Every morning I would wake up just as the sun was coming up and sit by the window watching the birds and the animals greet the day. All I could think of was how wonderful it would be to live there forever. Back home all I had was a small yard with a few trees and rose bushes to pretend in. This was the real thing. It spoke to my soul. It wrapped itself around my heart. It felt like home.
Fast forward 30 years or so. The longing never left me even though I had to live where there was work to be had and a living to be made as I raised two beautiful daughters pretty much on my own. Now the nest was empty and my younger sister, who had moved to the country with her family, was enticing me to join her there. What could I do but say yes? Who says dreams don't come true. It's been 28 years and I've never regretted one minute of it.
I truly believe that the desire to live in the country is something we're born with. It's in our blood. It calls to us. Even as a little kid playing in our small city yard, nature called to me. The trees whispered their secrets, the squirrels taught me how to save for a rainy day, and the ants instilled in me the importance of being a team player. The plants taught me how to embrace each season, and the when I touched the ground between the blades of grass, I "felt the heartbeat of God," to borrow a line from the poem "Renascence" by Edna St Vincent Millay. Now I wake to a chorus of birdsong I could not hear in the city above the noise. I experience the seasons up close and personal. I smell the scents of pine trees outside my window, and watch the antics of the baby squirrels each spring as they try to find their footing in the world. I cheer the geese each year as they honk their way across the sky on their way home after spending the winter in warmer climates, and marvel at magnificent sunsets that are hidden behind skyscrapers in the city. This old "child of the 60's rock and roller" even loves country music!
So here is a piece of advice from someone who waited almost 40 years to follow her dream: life is too short to wait that long. Follow your heart. Listen to what calls to you and don't wait to answer. If it's in your heart, then it's where you are meant to be.
And so it is.
