Blog #1

About Me

9.5.16

“Write a blog!” he said. “You are a good writer! Better than me! Go on, start a blog. It will be fun!” That is what my father said, repeatedly… over the course of three or more years. My father, who is the source of my inspiration (and in this case, my frustration) is also a published author. And an award-winning poet….on a national level.  Oh, yes, and it is me who should write a blog?

So, after about 3 years of endless encouragement (haranguing?) I created a blog space.  My parents share a beautiful office space in their home in Bigfork, Montana.  While visiting this summer, I courageously began to really consider what he encouraged me to do. I immediately hit a roadblock.  As I sat on the floor of their office, looking up at my Dad, who was turned around in his chair looking at me with his back to his desk, I considered giving up. If I couldn’t even name this thing, how was it to be successful? Or at least interesting?  After many suggestions, rejections and veers off of the topic, we decided on a title. Then I got up and returned to the kitchen where my office was set up.  As I started typing he stepped into the hallway, enthusiastically speaking as he energetically closed the distance between us “…and your first post should be about you! Yes,” he warmed to the subject “It should be about who you are, where you have been and where you are going.”  He smiled excitedly. “This is going to be fun!” he beamed.  I smiled and nodded as he went back to his morning coffee, glasses, head phones and computer.

About me? Seriously? Perhaps I should tackle “the meaning of life” next.

Fast forward 12 weeks and I am relaying this conversation to my husband. “What am I going to write about me?” I moaned. His eyes lit up and he says “Well that is easy”. He then begins a timeline.  I want to object but it is fascinating to listen to what he considers the highlights of my life. His hands punctuate the air as he bullet points my life and how these events led me to him and how I became a farmer’s wife.

“Born in Minneapolis”, he begins (Edina actually), “raised in Minneapolis” (Minnetonka actually). “Went to Minnehaha Academy” he continued, and then he jumped over a few life events and continued on with “Moved to Hong Kong, lived there 5 years, moved back to the states, lived briefly in Minnesota (he doesn’t attempt the city name this time), moved to Clark, South Dakota to be closer to your mom, travelled internationally for work and then” I know he is getting ready for the big close “You met me online and landed here, on the farm, next to me, where you belong.”

There you have it. My life, succinctly summed up in one paragraph. He spent all of 4 words to summarize my business travels and adventures throughout Southeast Asia, South America, Australia, Europe and Russia. He made my circuitous road rather straight.  He left out a few life-defining events like giving birth to my first child while living in Hong Kong, just days after the Beijing massacre with 100,000 people demonstrating in the streets, and the 3 other births that shaped, defined and changed me, and the marriage of our families that resulted in a total of 9 kids.  He left out the 6 grandsons we have been blessed with (that includes the one born yesterday) and the 7^th grandchild whose gender is yet unknown.

He glossed over the entire farm adventure that is my life now. He omitted the joys, challenges, fears, heartaches and heartbreaks, the love and the grit that brought and keeps me here…but then again, he would.

I am a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother and a nana. I believe in Jesus.  I work in advertising and on the farm. I love animals.  As a farm wife I have raked and baled hay, open and close gates, run the grain cart and occasionally driven the straight truck.  During calving I move my office to the barn so I am available to help. I have pulled calves, been run over twice, milked, tubed, herded, weighed and tagged cows and calves. I give medicine and I recently learned to castrate.  Cried over deaths, rejoiced over births. Been tired and bruised and sore and yet we get up and do it all over again.  I no longer care if I attend school functions in my overalls or have mud on my boots.

I went from looking at my past back to my screen.

I changed the name one last time. This is my Rural Road.