God, family, farm, prairie, wheat, big sky, harvest: these are some of the things that have shaped me. I have been walking in the wheat, my thoughts for company, as I turn to watch my father and brother running the combine over the field. The wheat is being harvested of course. It is that season for the farmers in Kansas.
I kneel here and am apprehensive and nervous. My own season is turning. The pace of time neither speeding up nor slowing down to my command. Should I chase my dreams? Or should I stick with what I know, what is familiar, what is safe? Momma tells me that you can never know until you try. Daddy says they’ll be here, always, and that his little baby girl can accomplish whatever she sets out to do. Bobby says he wishes he could be me. That I was always the lucky one.
NYU is a long ways from Kansas. Even further psychologically. It may as well be an alien world full of aliens. Perhaps it even is.
There are a lot of good reasons to stay. The smell of fresh cut wheat, for just one. To stay though is to give up my biggest dream, and my dream, my calling, is the one unrelenting reason that I must go.
Momma says I have to travel to be a writer. Experience different people, places and customs, to gather thoughts and ideas that could never find me here in safe, comfortable familiarity. Daddy says he has always known, in that deep voice of his, the slightest hint of a smile twitching the corners of his dirty, weathered, oh-so-handsome face. Momma should have been a writer. And, Daddy, well, he truly has known all along. I simply have no doubt about it, for I know he is true, a Kansas farmer.
Copyright © 2014 – Eric A. Schweitz