Maybe I've been overly emotional lately. Maybe I've just been sentimental. I'm not sure what has my emotions brewing (NO, I'm not pregnant), but this morning, I cried listening to Jason Aldean's new song -- "Fly Over States". Perhaps it helps that I have a huge crush on that Jason too, but the words to that song that get me, everytime, go a little like this:
30,000 feet above, could be Oklahoma
Just a bunch of square corn fields and wheat farms,
man it all looks the same,
miles and miles of backroads and highways,
connecting little towns with funny names,
Who'd want to live down there in the middle of nowhere...
They've never drove through Indiana,
Met the man who plowed that earth, planted that seed,
busted his ass for you and me,
Or caught a harvest moon in Kansas,
They'd understand why God made, those fly over states...
Do you get it? I do know the man(a lot of them) who has plowed our earth, planted that seed and busted his ass for you and me. Better yet, I'm related to many of them. I've driven miles and miles of backroads and highways in this great state, and I've snickered at all the funny names of little towns as I drove (often while wearing a stiff blue curduroy jacket with an emblem that means more to me than most will ever realize.) I've seen a moon so bright that it lights up our whole property and reminds me that there's someone so much bigger than us up there looking down. I've seen the sunset from the buddy seat of a combine while my Dad or brother or Uncle busted their ass so that you and I could eat every day. I have done my "part" by providing them a lunch or dinner to fill their empty stomachs after a long days work. I've helped move equipment late into an evening to wrap up the day, and helped windex all the windows of the combine each morning, so that Dad had a fresh start to the day. I've watched my kids giggle at the joy of feeding an ear of corn to a calf in our pasture and watched them learn and explore the seasons based on which implement they'd get to spend the evening in with Grandpa. I've rolled my windows down and enjoyed the smell of freshly plowed earth, the sweet smell of growing corn in the summertime and listened as the crisp cool fall winds blew through the ready to be harvested corn fields. I've driven down gravel roads, sat in the back of a jacked up tailgate around a humungous bonfire and drive 10mph for three miles following a tractor so it arrived safely to its destination and it's precious driver back to the farm. I've explored the creek from underneath the bridge on that old gravel road, and I've introduced my kids to the same joy of exploration. They don't know what the city is, and I'm actually 100% okay with that...even though at times in their life, I'll introduce them to it, hopefully to only have them realize what I have. Country is where we belong.
I've often said I couldn't live in Florida because I'd miss my seasons. I think I'd miss all of it- the spring blooms, the summer growth spurts, the crisp cool fall winds, and the joy of a white Christmas. And more importantly, the sights, sounds and smells that come with them, that can only be felt, seen, heard in the middle of nowhere Indiana.
I think it's the joy of growing up in the country that helps a person realize how much they have to be thankful for. We lead a simple life. We aren't (too) flashy. We wear carhearts and crocs. Our hands are often dirty and our kids love to be barefooted. We don't blink at eating a foil wrapped cheeseburger on the tailgate of a pickup on the endrows of a freshly harvested field, with dirty hands and sweat on our brows. Those are memories we won't ever forget. That and getting to tumble wild and free in the bed of the dumptruck atop a pile of corn or soybeans.
I've always said that I have a true passion for Agriculture, but I think as I grow older (and I hope, wiser) I realize that it's not so much where I live that's taught me so much in life. It's how we earned a living where we lived and how God blessed us to do so...right here in the middle of one of those "fly over" states.
30,000 feet above, could be Oklahoma
Just a bunch of square corn fields and wheat farms,
man it all looks the same,
miles and miles of backroads and highways,
connecting little towns with funny names,
Who'd want to live down there in the middle of nowhere...
They've never drove through Indiana,
Met the man who plowed that earth, planted that seed,
busted his ass for you and me,
Or caught a harvest moon in Kansas,
They'd understand why God made, those fly over states...
Do you get it? I do know the man(a lot of them) who has plowed our earth, planted that seed and busted his ass for you and me. Better yet, I'm related to many of them. I've driven miles and miles of backroads and highways in this great state, and I've snickered at all the funny names of little towns as I drove (often while wearing a stiff blue curduroy jacket with an emblem that means more to me than most will ever realize.) I've seen a moon so bright that it lights up our whole property and reminds me that there's someone so much bigger than us up there looking down. I've seen the sunset from the buddy seat of a combine while my Dad or brother or Uncle busted their ass so that you and I could eat every day. I have done my "part" by providing them a lunch or dinner to fill their empty stomachs after a long days work. I've helped move equipment late into an evening to wrap up the day, and helped windex all the windows of the combine each morning, so that Dad had a fresh start to the day. I've watched my kids giggle at the joy of feeding an ear of corn to a calf in our pasture and watched them learn and explore the seasons based on which implement they'd get to spend the evening in with Grandpa. I've rolled my windows down and enjoyed the smell of freshly plowed earth, the sweet smell of growing corn in the summertime and listened as the crisp cool fall winds blew through the ready to be harvested corn fields. I've driven down gravel roads, sat in the back of a jacked up tailgate around a humungous bonfire and drive 10mph for three miles following a tractor so it arrived safely to its destination and it's precious driver back to the farm. I've explored the creek from underneath the bridge on that old gravel road, and I've introduced my kids to the same joy of exploration. They don't know what the city is, and I'm actually 100% okay with that...even though at times in their life, I'll introduce them to it, hopefully to only have them realize what I have. Country is where we belong.
I've often said I couldn't live in Florida because I'd miss my seasons. I think I'd miss all of it- the spring blooms, the summer growth spurts, the crisp cool fall winds, and the joy of a white Christmas. And more importantly, the sights, sounds and smells that come with them, that can only be felt, seen, heard in the middle of nowhere Indiana.
I think it's the joy of growing up in the country that helps a person realize how much they have to be thankful for. We lead a simple life. We aren't (too) flashy. We wear carhearts and crocs. Our hands are often dirty and our kids love to be barefooted. We don't blink at eating a foil wrapped cheeseburger on the tailgate of a pickup on the endrows of a freshly harvested field, with dirty hands and sweat on our brows. Those are memories we won't ever forget. That and getting to tumble wild and free in the bed of the dumptruck atop a pile of corn or soybeans.
I've always said that I have a true passion for Agriculture, but I think as I grow older (and I hope, wiser) I realize that it's not so much where I live that's taught me so much in life. It's how we earned a living where we lived and how God blessed us to do so...right here in the middle of one of those "fly over" states.
What an awesome post!
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