My Heart Lives in the Country

My Heart Lives in the Country

       I have never in my life lived in a city. That said, I've always loved life in the countryside and all its perks. Rural areas can be very diverse in different places, as I saw firsthand when my mom and I moved from Virginia to Iowa, but they all share a sort of wonderful common spirit that identifies them as rural. The countryside has a closeness to nature about it, a sort of wild freedom that cannot be found in a city. Its people are rightly portrayed as friendly and familial with one another, and there is a cozy peacefulness in the air of such a place. Though it is admittedly inconvenient to have to drive for an hour to reach the nearest shopping mall, as we do now, I have always been happy to live in the country. 

       I was born and raised just outside of the relatively small college town of Blacksburg, Virginia, and my home sat on thirteen and a half gorgeous, forested acres. My home was tucked away in the heart of the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains and I loved the magnificent view of the mountain we enjoyed from our side porch, or almost anywhere in the back yard.

My very own mountain, seen from our yard, over our horse pasture.

The horse pasture beneath our mountain occupied most of our 13.5 acres and was heavily forested. In its center was a steep valley Dad always told me was once a lake. It was a lovely place to go on hikes or have picnics when the horses were keeping it down. (The pasture is overgrown in this picture because this is after the horses were gone. In fact, the thick patch of greenery you see in the right center is what grew up in the fresh dirt over Bob's grave.) It was great having my very own place to hike without even having to go into town. I even had designated a large, flat rock out in the valley as "picnic rock" because, as the name suggests, it was a favorite place of mine to go for a picnic.

An older, more crisp picture of our view.

These pictures show more views of our mountain from our side porch.

During and after a rainfall, the mountains are often covered in soft, swirling mists, which give them a sort of wild, magical quality, as though they are in a fantasy novel. This picture also shows the edge of our screened in porch, which was a great place to sleep out on a Summer night, up off the ground as if in a forest canopy, where the chirping birds and fresh breeze would awaken you. 

I loved this picture so much I zoomed in on the mists on the mountaintop. As a lover of fantasy novels, such a sight always thrilled me, because I truly felt part of such a landscape that might hold such adventures as those I loved to read.

       One of the things about life in the country which is very apparent to me as I review my photos of my home and select the best for this essay is the profound attachment to the land in the country that grows in your heart and your soul. In fact I am shaking slightly right now, having just looked through photos which I have not looked at in months since I heard our home has at last been sold, and there is a heavy knot in my stomach. When you live in a place like that for the first fourteen years of your life, it becomes a part of you more deeply than can be expressed in any words. I cannot imagine that, living in a city, one could ever find such an attachment to the land, because people in the city are simply more removed from their land, and they have much less of it.

       I don't doubt that someday I may move to a city for a job, as it seems nearly everyone must live in a city at one point or another. And I'm not saying that cities are horrible places I never want to go; it's very exciting to visit the city and see and do all the amazing things you can do there that you can't do anywhere else. We've visited Chicago twice and I loved it both times; you can't go see a Tom Petty concert in your horse pasture. I was always delighted when we'd visit D.C. as well, and the museums were exciting and varied--I found the spy museum thrilling in particular. Cities are energetic, vivacious, and fun. But I will never lay awake at night wondering if the new family in my former city apartment has cut down my favorite tree, like I sometimes do now with my favorite willow tree back in Blacksburg. It was the first tree I ever climbed and it held a piece of my heart in its gracefully waving arms.

This photo shows my most recent visit to my willow. This is after my mom and I had moved to Iowa and my dad to Delaware but before he sold it, and so our yard was unmown and in a state of disrepair, with a pile of brush choking up against my willow. Like the land, this tree holds a piece of my heart. I would often sit in it and read or write; I have written more than one poem about the willow itself. It is a defining part of my home, something one could never have in a city. 

       Truly, my heart lives in the country. When you live on an expanse of beautiful land, it gets inside your soul and holds it tight in a way a city simply can't. The beauty of nature surrounds you in the country. I will always miss my home when I am away, and such serene places in the countryside will always be my home.