When I was young I was very naive. And when I say "very naive" I mean *very* naive. Life was simple and love was a dream I wished for. All I wanted when I was in my teen years was to marry an Iowa farmer and have my first child by the time I was 19 years old. Here I sit, 45 and childless and wonder what happened?
I look back at the girl-child that I was and wonder at the dreams that made me so happy. I remember staring at the dark, rich soil of an Iowa cornfield, digging my hands deep for a handful and squishing it in my fingers... I would watch the steam rise as the humidity levels rose for the day and revel in the hot, thick air. I enjoyed watching the combines and other machines of the field work the earth in perfect rows day after day and be happy and fascinated by the Zen perfection of it... not even knowing at the time what Zen was.
I remember that I wanted a large family. Probably because I came from a small family and longed for the squabbles and chores and teamwork and love that came from a large household. I remember that Mark Olson, my one true love at the tender age of 19, came from a large family and how I almost stayed with him just to be a part of something grand and bigger than what I had known in the past, in spite of his addiction to alcohol and the nightmares that came of it all.
And yet, even though I'm not a farmer's wife... even though I don't live on a farm and work mother earth... even though I am no longer naive and understand the ways and workings of the world... I *am* happy and I *do* have a wonderful husband that loves me and that I totally adore... and I *do* have family that loves and supports me even though it is small and close-knit.
I have a good life. I love my husband and my family. I'm enjoying this time in my life and where I'm going in it. But I wonder... and wonder some more... if I had a child... if I had found my farmer... if....
If...
If...
...
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