An Unexpected Journey

Do you ever find yourself in a place where you think to yourself, “Why didn’t I come here sooner?” I was thinking those words this weekend when I found myself on an unexpected journey. I arrived at a destination that I hadn’t thought I was avoiding. It was a place I needed to be, but for some reason I didn’t want to go there.

This weekend I did. And I went there all by myself. Another flash of reminiscing hindsight tells me that was how it needed to be.

When my dad died last year, he left to his three daughters a tract of land in the rolling hills of his birthplace, southern Missouri. I remember traipsing through this land of my uncle’s farm as a child with a wild adventurous spirit, unbridled enthusiasm for the land around me. I had no fear for the possibility of what could go wrong. Neither did I have a premonition that some day this land would be mine. But is it really mine? I could show you a piece of paper with my name on it that says that it is.

My dad was so talented in many ways, but he was held back by invisible hands that kept him from reaching his full potential. He did, however, pass on his genes to four children and he passed this land on to us. He didn’t even earn the land himself, he inherited it from his brother. Nonetheless, he was proud to give this gift to us and he talked about the land at every opportunity.

I hadn’t been to the farm in years and I had always been a passenger on previous trips, never the navigator. Unexpected journeys don’t always allow time for planning routes, and I was restless to get this trip started so I set my GPS to the nearby town of 300 or so people and off I went. Hundreds of miles away from the place I called home, I walked into the nearest and oldest-looking gas station I could find. The men at the counter looked like people you would see in a movie, their etched features worn with the years. I was proud to tell them my last name that I knew would be recognized in this area. Although my uncle died over 10 years ago, they knew him and gave me “as the crow flies” directions to the rural road farm.

I drove down the winding gravel road as they instructed and some 20 minutes later I arrived at our family farm. When I was with my dad at the farm I thought he seemed like a trespasser on my uncle’s land. Now I felt the same way about myself. A second generation trespasser. But then I realized we’re all sort of trespassers on the land. So I decided to walk the land and get to know it. Let it get to know me. And with this approach I hoped over time, each would come to own a little of the other.

I’m at the very early stages of getting to know our bucolic acreage in Southern Missouri. As with any new relationship, my emotions are euphoric (and certainly not realistic). I can’t wait to spend more time away from the city noise and lights. Country skies display stars so thick that one has a difficult time picking out city-familiar constellations like the Big Dipper. No matter what difficult work may be ahead in owning this land, I welcome the opportunity for a place of refuge and with any luck, more unexpected journeys.