Tonight I was reading the boys bedtime stories with the windows open, enjoying the fresh spring breeze, when we became distracted by a noise outside. It was the sound of our neighbor running his tractor through the field. The boys and I looked out Aiden’s second-story window towards our backyard, and the field that lay beyond.
That field was corn that first fall when we moved in, and soybeans last year. Which means due to the mechanics of crop rotation, this year it should be corn again. It was strange, looking out that window and watching him work the ground, knowing that by the time the crops grow golden and ready for harvest, we will be gone from here.
This move is – and always has been – bittersweet. But there are certain moments that bring to light the true finality of the decision: a red realtor’s sign in the front yard, an open house, a field planted with seed that you will never see harvested.
What more is there to say, really? We watched for a while out the window as the tractor ran back and forth, turning up rich black dirt, and the sun sank slowly behind us. We listened to the hum of the engine, the soft chirping of birds, and whoosh of the evening breeze.
Watching. Listening. Wondering what the future will bring.
