When I was four, I thought we lived on a farm. We didn’t have any livestock, or a barn, or any farming equipment, but that didn’t matter. We had land (1/4 acre, but at the time, I thought it was at least 5), and a vegetable garden, and we had a farmer. (Well, we had my dad, and I was SURE he was a farmer. He wasn’t a farmer, but I didn’t know that for years.) My dad took care of lots of household chores, and he always let me help. My favorite helping game was pretending to be a farmer just like my dad. I would follow him around while he mowed the lawn with a bagless lawn mower, and collect all the grass clippings in a laundry basket. I LOVED Saturdays spent picking up grass and pretending to be bailing hay for our horses (which we didn’t have). I knew for sure I wanted to live on a farm forever.
I don’t live on a farm anymore, but I am still enamored by the quiet simplicity of farm life, and find myself surrounded by small, simple things that bring me the same kind of joy:
hot coffee topped with whip cream in my own kitchen
tiny words of wisdom written on chai tea packets
reds, greens, yellows, and oranges neatly arranged in the produce aisle
$5.00 bouquets of mums
nephews who love you THIIIIIIISSSSSSS much (with arms spread so wide someone is bound to fall over)
candy corn in vintage jars on top of my fridge (which will never make it to the trick or treaters)
Emily Dickinson, the greatest student of simplicity wrote, “Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough.” Here’s to you, Emily for always having the right words, and here’s to hoping we’ll always be able to find something in the mundane to celebrate.