I read a few articles recently about an increase of interest by people wanting to move from cities to small towns and rural properties. In many areas rural prices have been rising in response to the desired exodus. Since we bought our place out here in 2018 I have not seen a single for sale sign on our road or anywhere around us. The neighbors we have met have lived here for a long time. It seems that when one lives in the country something keeps you there. A blizzard blew threw recently, dropping several inches of snow and leaving the usual high drifts resulting from 36 to 48 mph wind gusts. Our two dogs, Marley and Steve, love to lay down and crawl along the big drifts and then roll on them. They stand up caked with snow then shake it off. I don’t know how many rabbits are living out here now but it seems every other time I enter the machine shed I scare one up, and there are tracks in the snow all over the acreage. We have two squirrels around the place but no songbirds are to be seen or heard. After the last blizzard I filled two of the bird feeders but so far nothing. Last time I was in town I noticed the river was almost completely frozen over, which usually brings the eagles out of the river valley over the plains looking for food. Sure enough a few days later I was driving along our road and saw one fly up and land in a barren, empty field. I came to a stop parallel to it and we looked at each other for a few moments. It flew off and I watched it go until I could see it no more. Winter creeps along.

A few days ago the weather report warned about “freezing fog” occurring during the overnight. I don’t recall encountering freezing fog before, but sure enough the next morning the trees were coated with frost. The next couple of nights were marked by fog so thick we could not see to the boundaries of our two acres. The coyotes seem more active during a foggy evening, and will come closer to the house than usual. Last month we had some freezing rain come through and cake our trees with ice. Several large branches came down as well as hundreds of small ones, making a real mess. The upside was the next morning while the dogs and I were walking around the acreage assessing the damage, the sun began to melt the ice. Everywhere the tinkling of ice falling from the trees and crashing to the ground could be heard. The sunlight made all of the trees sparkle brilliantly as they shed their ice coats. I stopped several times and just watched and listened. As the day continued to warm, the ice that still clung to the trees began to melt until it seemed to be raining under them. The sunshine grew warmer, and the tree raining increased. Finally what was left were shattered pieces of ice melting under the trees and the warmth making short work of them. Soon all was gone but the sun and broken branches.

One recent morning Shelly came in from a stroll around the acreage with the dogs to report there was a loud noise coming from the machine shed I should investigate. Stepping into the main room of the shed I was surrounded by a continuous high pitched shrieking alarm. At first I thought it was coming from the ceiling, but as I moved around the shed it seemed to be all around me. Walking back outside I wondered what the noise was and how could I make it stop. Shelly suggested I ask our neighbor who happened to be out mowing the ditches along our road with his tractor. I could see he was coming our way so I walked down the driveway to flag him down. The driver turned out not to be our neighbor but a county worker I had never met before. He stepped out of the cab and introduced himself. I apologized for bothering him, explaining I thought he was the neighbor, but since he was here I figured I might as well ask him if he had ever encountered a mystery noise like what was coming from my machine shed. A little reluctantly he agreed to take a look, and I can only imagine what he was thinking about this strange situation. We walked up the driveway and entered the shed. He stood for just a few seconds, then walked over to the riding mower and turned the key from auxiliary to off. The noise stopped. I had no idea the mower had an alarm. We looked at each other and chuckled, and I admitted that I felt pretty stupid. He said, “Well, if that is the worst problem we have to face today I think we are doing okay.” I thanked him as he walked back down the driveway to his tractor to continue mowing.

A few days ago Shelly was walking the dogs along our gravel road (we never use leashes out here in the county; the dogs respond well to vocal commands when a vehicle is approaching) when they came upon a gruesome sight: someone had dressed out some animals and dumped the bloody remains in the ditch. While it’s disrespectful to those of us who live on the road, and I imagine illegal, dead things don’t last long out here. Rodents, turkey vultures and coyotes (including insects during the warmer months) make short work of most anything lying around outside. Recently I woke up to a note Shelly had left on the kitchen table. It said there might be a dead possum outside. The dogs and I went out to investigate and sure enough there was a possum just off the back porch on our sidewalk, and it was not playing dead. While Marley ran over to investigate, Steve was slinking away in the opposite direction. Marley had not seen it before, while Steve thought he was in trouble. That told me which one had killed it earlier that morning when Shelly had first let them outside. A bag of watermelon rinds sitting on the deck might have been what tempted the poor possum to come so close to the house. A strong rain storm blew through recently on a Sunday night and left the usual mess of branches and limbs from our white willow trees. During the couple of days spent picking them up the corn fields surrounding us were harvested, so we were able to start burning again. We still have brush piles leftover from last winter, so we are looking forward to having as many fall fires as we can before the hard cold sets in.

The acreage has been through some weather variables over the last several weeks. Hot, unyielding sun and no rain persisted until the lawn went dormant and the crops around us dried to a golden yellow. During that time nature sent us a “derecho” also known as a land hurricane, with some parts of Iowa experiencing over 100 mph winds. We did not feel the brunt of the storm but were left picking up branches scattered over the place, while other areas suffered significant damage to trees and buildings. Over 400,000 people were without power, some for weeks, and 6 million acres of crops were damaged. Once the storm was over the drought continued. Then, despite riots and protests, a derecho, a drought and a pandemic we decided to go on vacation. Shelly had been missing Lake Superior so we packed up the car and drove through Minnesota and over to Wisconsin for a several day stay with our 12 year old Lab Marley. This was our third stay at the same cabin so it was both a getaway and familiar. Marley seemed to love it, and eventually got used to coming over to the side of the car so I could pick her up and place her in the back seat of the vehicle. However, in her defense, she could still jump out of the car, just not in! She had no hesitation swimming into Lake Superior to fetch the stick, and had lots of admirers on the beach for being such a good old lady. Shelly and I enjoyed the time away but were both glad to get back to our little acreage…just in time for a cold front to come through and rain on us for a week. At least the drought is over!

A few weeks ago I was feeling a bit out of sorts, as many of us do from time to time. Was it the deadly virus, violence and riots, the tanking economy? Well, yes, but not entirely. What was it, then? What I eventually came to realize was that after two years I was still waiting for the land to posses me and for me to completely embrace my new surroundings in the country. To experience and write about living in the country has been like a dream come true. The last thing I expected was to miss the city, which I had spent years trying to get away from. The action and movement that I had known my whole life, the traffic and busyness, neighbors and dog walkers and bike riders, stoplights, buses, taking a walk in the city, and just the sense of being around what is happening. In the city no matter what time at night you go out there is something going on, there are streetlights and people driving, walking, running. Everything I wanted to escape from I missed. Here in the country when the sun sets it is dark, almost pitch black if there is no moon. There is an occasional truck or tractor moving along our gravel road at night. In the fall the coyotes begin calling again. In the country there are neighbors who live way down the gravel road, and they are friendly and willing to help when needed, but most people here want to be left alone. In the city people mostly want to be left alone as well, but because of the closeness there are more exceptions. If I wanted to speak with a neighbor in the city, I would walk across the street and talk. Out here you are far enough away from each other it becomes a planned visit. Once I realized what my problem was I decided a replacement plan was in order. Tractors for buses, gravel for freeways, and wide open skys for a house next door. It will be a pleasure to keep working on this transition.

A single engine airplane has been flying over the vast fields that surround our acreage. My guess is it’s a training plane or a very adventurous solo flier. The same thing happens each time it appears overhead. First we hear it, then locate it up in the sky. It begins the same aerobatics each time, a steep vertical climb until it can not go any higher, the plane turning over and beginning a plunge straight down, wings spinning, cutting the engine as it drops faster, plummeting toward the ground until the engine restarts and the plane evens out, flying horizontal again. Along comes a barrel roll, some normal flying, then flying upside down, then the vertical climb and plunge again. For around half an hour it repeats these maneuvers until it flies off to the north from where it came, only to reappear in a few days and do it all over again. If I am outside I can’t turn away from the show, I have to watch it flying about. The most thrilling part is when the engine is cut and the plane begins twirling straight down to the ground and you are convinced it will crash into the corn or bean fields and send up a huge Hollywood explosion until, bbrrrrrrr, the engine starts again and the day is saved. Maybe my fascination with all of this goes goes back to a favorite film of mine when I was a kid in the 1970’s called The Great Waldo Pepper. The air scenes in the movie used real aircraft, which gives a realistic dimension missing from films using models or CGI. A young, handsome Robert Redford is in the staring role as a barnstorming pilot during the 1920’s. Now, years later, I can look up and watch my own Waldo Pepper.

After the cold spell we experienced earlier this spring a heat wave moved through for several days, with some highs in the nineties, causing us to water the flowers and garden daily. We had to replant part of the garden as the rabbits ate some of our tender little plants and the birds dug up some of our green bean seeds. We made cages and grouped our garden crops together in them, which is keeping the rabbits out for now. I know we have at least three rabbits because I have seen them all together at the same time. Both our dogs Marley and Steve love to chase the rabbits, while Steve has become fixated on them, stalking in front of the machine shed, waiting for them to come out from underneath. I have considered live-trapping them and driving them a few miles away to set them free, but then they could become someone elses problem. Another solution is just to shoot them on the acreage, but so far I am resisting that urge, so as of now we are trying to live with them. We have a robin with four chicks in a nest built on top of one of our outside lights. A thrasher can be heard daily singing its ever changing song, and it is nesting in one of our big ash trees. Recently Shelly took the dogs for a walk along our road and they were flushing pheasants out of the ditch. The birds were so startled they forgot to fly away for a moment and instead ran into to a cornfield, scooting along the rows as they made their escape.

This spring so far has been a cool one. There have been a few mid 70 and 80 degree days, but not many. We finally finished picking up the sticks and branches blown down over the winter so we could mow the acreage for the first time this year. We have been having fires in our outdoor hearth and in our fire ring as much as possible when the wind is calm. There is so much kindling it will probably take all summer and fall to burn what we have accumulated. Shelly has purchased all of the plants and seeds for the freshly tilled garden but we are going to wait for the current cold spell to pass before we plant. We recently planted bulbs and sweet pea seeds along the southern end of the house and some bulbs along the side of the ditch. The farmers around us are done planting and the crops are just beginning to come up. The birds we have in most abundance around the acreage are robins, followed by finches, swallows, sparrows, grackles and starlings. There are pheasants living all around us, and at dusk we can hear them calling out, joining the chorus of robins we hear every sundown. A few days ago we had a fire in the outdoor hearth and I walked over to where the dogs had been rolling around to pick up a few sticks. Right where I was about to step was a tiny bunny, sitting so still I thought it was dead. I called Shelly over and she picked it up and it blinked and moved a bit in the palm of her hands. She took it to another part of the yard and it hopped away. The dogs walked the area where the rabbit had been sitting, sniffing, wondering how they could have missed it.

A few hundred yards to the north of our acreage runs a strip of Highway 20, the longest road in the United States. Lucinda Williams has an album titled “The Ghosts of Highway 20”, using the highway as metaphor for memory. Traffic moves along on 20 unabated, day and night, despite the pandemic. If the wind is from the north we can hear it, but if it is from the south we can only see it. The robins are mating, hunting worms and singing down the sun at dusk. A pheasant will squawk now and then in the distance. A few weeks ago Shelly was driving around dawn and spied two glowing eyes off to the side of the road. When she slowed down to get a better look it was a fox. All of our white willow trees have leafed out while the other trees still have buds. The farmers have begun discing the surrounding fields, and our road has been busy with pickup trucks and tractors coming and going. We had a high of 81 degrees one day last week and a few days ago it was half that and now we are expecting snow, freezing rain and high winds on Easter Sunday. Old Man Winter is trying to come back but he will loose, more and more.