August 28, 1955 - Home From The Farm

We came home from the farm today. I knew I'd miss it but I didn't know in what ways. I have missed it already in several ways - unconscious ways. I felt out of place on the parkway coming home - somehow as though I were being returned to some place I did not want to go - some place of confinement. We are happy here at 3349, but it is confining after what we have lived the past two weeks. And tonight as I sat quilting & watching the TV I hadn't missed, I felt myself resisting the idea of going to bed. At the farm I never resisted it, but here I did. I didn't, I don't want to close the day. Why, I asked myself. It seemed somehow connected with that idea of confinement. Here all there is, is the shelter of this house - four sides & a roof above. That doesn't seem like enough. I guess I was waiting for more - for something better to close the day. Out there, there was so much more than the walls & the roof & the space inbetween - there were fields behind and before - there were chickens to feed & look after - there was space all around & infinite space above - a whole, full sky above from horizon to horizon, from hill to hill, never dull - never ending - and there were the views of those horizons and those fields - full, satisfying views, staving my hunger & thirst for life & growth & progress & beauty & freshness & nature. There were an eternal number of things to notice & to absorb - to love and joy over - the somehow pathetic leaf plucked from the apple tree behind the house - already a mottled red & yellow - warm & beautiful in its premature autumn scheme - recalling all the sweet, sad remembrances of that best of all seasons; the comical resemblance of the small chick as it bent over to scratch, to a fat boy in knickers viewed from behind; the mother hen a perfect picture of the doting mother, large in bosom and of managing nature; the gladsome variety of wild flowers, some resting close to earth and others stretching tall above the earth - a multitude of colors & shades of colors, pink, lavender, deep king's purple, golden yellow & butter yellow, creamy white and periwinkle - some feathery, delicate - others bold & confident, making a richer bouquet than could be cultivated; the endlessly varied pageantry of the sky & clouds, never failing to rest me & supply me with hope and joy and peace. All these things and many, many more will be missed. And here I want to express my gratitude to God for all such things, true expressions of His qualities.

I guess I was satisfied to close the day on the farm because I knew the things that made the farm & all the countryside important & valuable to me, would be there tomorrow, if not the same as they were today, then different, more interesting, more developed, but still in all unchanged - while here I'm not so sure about tomorrow - the things I must deal with are of lesser value, of more temporal nature & not nearly as satisfying. The farm things gave me more fulfillment during each day & when night fell & was met, it was enough & bed was welcome - but, perhaps in the city there is no fulfillment, at least for me.