I love the Midwest. I'm pretty sure I've said this a time or two before.
In fact, when I was little (OK, and maybe not-so-little), I used to think John Mellencamp was talking about me when he sang that lovely little ditty about life in a small town. Truth be told, I've always prided myself on being a Midwestern girl to the core.
But then last year, I realized I had completely skipped one of the rites of passage on my journey to becoming the metaphorical Ms. Midwest: The county fair. I've never been to one. In my entire life. I've never tasted pie from the pie-judging contest. I've never plucked pink cotton candy from a stick while staring down at the festivities from the top of a Ferris wheel. And I've certainly never won a giant stuffed panda because of my dart-throwing skills.
It was as if I had betrayed my home. It was all very sad, indeed. I sort of felt like an impostor. How could I call myself a true lover of the Heartland now?
And how could I prove to this great Heartland that I was worthy - still - of being Ms. Midwest?
Then last weekend, my mother came home with the perfect Saturday afternoon excursion: A drive to a local apple orchard, set amidst the last of the yellow summer corn.
The weather was perfect as we drove through the countryside. It was one of those early days of fall that makes you realize you're not as sad as you thought you'd be to see the seasons change. It was a good start too, I thought, to restoring the Heartland's faith in me.
There is something so calming about a quiet orchard on a Saturday afternoon. As we pulled in, I marveled once again at my mother's wisdom. A quiet afternoon is exactly what we needed. We strolled through the raspberry fields with our milk carton in hand, looking for that perfect raspberry hidden under green leaves. As we picked, I told the tale of the last time I picked raspberries (and the last time I ventured to that orchard. It was Labor Day weekend when I was 16 and was sneezing and coughing from a cold. My sister and mother muttered something about my freaky elephant-like memory from a few raspberry vines away. I just continued on my raspberry hunt.
And as we picked the perfect-shade-of-red apples I've ever seen and meandered over to pet the adorable farm animals, I couldn't help but feel like I was witnessing the seasons changing right before my very eyes. Summer was fading, being blown away by the sweet smell of cider and freshly made doughnuts - of course, I enjoyed an entire doughnut for dessert that night.
But I digress. It's rare, isn't it, when nature gives us a VIP pass into its inner workings? Yes, we know the seasons change, but rarely do we ever have the chance to stop and see one blend into another right before our very eyes. Rarely do we get to feel it in the air as it brushes against our face or see it in the sky as the cloud begin to take on a heavier shape.
Later that night, I couldn't help but feel like the Heartland had given me a little sign on that trip to the orchard. It was letting me know I was home again. And, maybe, reassuring me that I had never left.
