Family Farm

I had the good fortune of not only of finding a wonderful mate, but of marrying into an amazing Iowa farm family. Our visits home are far too infrequent, but thoroughly enjoyed when the time comes.

The countryside is gorgeous. Yes, there are wide plains blanketed with corn and beans, but there are also rolling hills and valleys. And there are rivers, broad majestic rivers, beautiful and terrible rivers that alternately nourish fields and terrorize riverside towns.

In winter you might, at first glance, use the word "bleak" to describe the landscape. But a second look reveals a hundred shades of tan and brown and gold which paint intricate textures across the terrain. The often brutal cold reminds you of the awesome power of women and men to adapt and even thrive in almost any conditions.

The house, with a mid-1800's vintage, was built of massive stones which lend it both majesty and warmth. It has been lovingly looked after for the 40 or so years her family has been charged with its care, and they have worked to preserve it's beauty and rich history.

The kitchen is the point of entry and, like few homes I've known, the soul of not only the house, but of the family. Remodeled years ago, it now has a soft patina of wear from the making of ten-thousand meals. Kate's mom works in the kitchen with the grace of a ballerina on stage, practiced hands moving with precision and efficiency, measuring by intuition.

Sunday gatherings are common, where the meals are epic, and family drives in from afar just for Grandma's cooking. Card games are frequent and boisterous, followed by long conversations about weather and jobs, triumphs and struggles.

The home and farm are thoroughly infused with the irreverent and loving spirit of Kate's dad, the traces of his laughter dimmed by the years since his passing, but nonetheless still echoing in the family kitchen, from the walls of his shop, and amongst the trees in the field borders.

Her brother now tends the cows, fields and timber, scraping what living he can from toil and soil. It's tough work for a much younger man. As is the case with so many of those who supply our tables, he is deeply driven by a love of hard work and the land. A ragtag fleet of aging tractors and pickups proves that gold is not his reward, aside from the color of sky at sunrise, or the fields in October.

We have traveled countless miles on many trips from here to there, driven by love and longing. And love we find there, in abundance, from a family that works hard, laughs loud and gives with grace, in a home that offers sturdy shelter, sweet refuge.