Autumn in the Countryside

The seasons come more alive in the country. In those sprawling hills of corn, the breeze whispers of secrets yet to come, and nature stands tall without the distractions of flashing lights and loud cars. In the country, autumn is alive.

Our weekend getaway in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania was one of those weekends where I honestly believe I could live the rest of my life tucked away in a red farmhouse and feel more connected with my environment with every step through the fields and every bitterly cold gust of wind. It's the type of place where you are thankful that such lands exist, Amish farmland that you pray will stay in the family for generations to come so that somebody will love it, work it, and save it.

Rickety, wooden covered bridges. Cornfields. Pumpkins. Bicycles. Amish farmers. Cornfields. Chickens and goats and horses. Did I mention the cornfields? Those huge swaths of land are truly awesome, in the proper sense of the word. I kept begging the hubs to pull over to the side of the winding country roads so I could marvel at the cornfields. It was so windy that weekend, and the rustle of the cornhusks in the wind almost sounded like the ocean. Their dry skins shook against each other, and I felt chills as I tried to decipher their song. I don't quite know what they were saying, but on some basic level I understood.

In those moments as I stood at the side of the road, I let my eyes close, as they often do when that familiar, thrilling rush of joy wells up in my chest, and I grinned, face turned upward to the cloud-covered sky and felt utterly connected to this land. This wonderful, sprawling, countryside land that is miles away from the pavement and the city, this marvelous land that makes me believe in peace and hope, this simple and muddy and beautiful land that will always hold a bit of magic for me. This, I know, I truly believe, is autumn in the countryside.

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