Homesick

I am a come-here from Illinois. Hogs and corn and other crops are part of my DNA.  No. I was not raised on a farm. But most of my kin were....and I am proud to claim them.

So then why do I yearn to travel those narrow country blacktop roads that are straight as a string...where corn and soybeans extend in every direction, where you can feel the setting sun beating down on you as you travel west, trying to catch that last glimmer of daylight before you get home?

I look at this picture and I can smell Illinois summer. That hard to identify sweet growing smell of rich soil and dark earth, so fertile that it begs to be turned and plowed and planted. 

Don't get me wrong. I love the Ozarks. I have lived here longer than I ever lived in Illinois. It would take a lot of persuading to make me move from my hilltop home.

Maybe it is a kind of primal genetic urge you feel as you grow old. Maybe it's that homing instinct that brings salmon leaping upstream to lay their eggs in the spring. Maybe it's that call to butterflies and swallow and geese as they make their way north when Nature bids them.

Whatever it is, I feel it especially during this time of year.  I can close my eyes and feel the air as it surrounds me...right then, I'm home. Comfort in memories. Ready to move on.