I grew up on a large farm outside of Annapolis. Corn grew in tall, thick, green stalks and made a wall along our side yard. Lightning bugs streaked across the dark summer sky. Tiny feet racing over dew covered grass, we captured them in jars, marveling at their magic. Spring mornings were gloroious. The cherry tree outside my window let a bittersweet breeze blow in. I'd spend those first few moments of morning leaning my elbows on the windowframe, looking out over my country kingdom. The ancient barns leaning with the wind, cows barely visible in the distance, and always the green. Everything was green and alive.

I long for that simplicity sometimes. Though nothing is as simple as our memories would have us believe. Oh things weren't easy, there were still arguments and stresses, there were still imperfections. But there was just something about waking up, having that first deep morning stretch and being able to look out the window over a view so beautiful I didn't even have the vocabulary to express it.

Growing up on a farm was really a gift. I could run through pastures, watch calves being born, their mothers nuzzling them gently. We made forts over the tiny stream that cut through the farm horizontally in half, and rode horses up the hills towards the barn. Life teemed everywhere and I came away with a healthy respect for all living creatures and our world that works so wondrously to support them.

And while I love where I am in life right now, there are mornings I wake up and look out my window hoping to see the sun rising over the corn stalks.