We welcomed our second baby a few weeks ago, a sweet little boy named Jasper. And, after being cooped up in the sterile hospital environment for a few days, you can imagine we were ready to bring our little bundle home to the farm and fresh country air (even if it was freezing with a snowstorm on the way at the time).
The minute our truck tires dropped from the pavement of the highway onto the coarse terrain of our gravel road, I let out a breath of relief. I remember commenting to my husband that the familiar feeling and sound of the gravel passing underneath us provided a sense of comfort to me, and I even made a comment to our newborn that it would be a familiar experience throughout his years growing up in our little slice of rural heaven.
Riding in the backseat with a 3-day-old baby has a way of putting things into perspective, working up all the nostalgic feelings swirling around in your brain. That familiar crunch of rock and bumpy lull along the uneven surface brought back fond memories of my own childhood. After long days at school, I’d be eager to reach the gravel roads while riding home on the school bus, or, after falling asleep on the way home from a day trip to visit family, I’d be gently nudged awake by that familiar sensation as we neared our dairy farm.
Even when I went away to college, spent summers in bigger cities for internships and worked at a corporate office following graduation, I would regularly go out of my way to find a quaint country road to drive down. I’d pull off the busy roads, roll down my windows, turn up some country music, and soak in the warm embrace and comfort that all gravel roads seem to give me.
Thinking about the strong feelings country roads bring me has me dreaming of rolling down the windows and soaking in all the wonderful smells and fresh air that comes with the spring and summer seasons. The drastic rise in temperatures this week in the Midwest might have a little bit to do with those thoughts, as does the fact that I’ve been hunkered down in the house with our newborn and toddler during all these cold days, admittedly going a bit stir crazy.
The author dairy farms with her parents and brother near Hawkeye, Iowa. The family milks approximately 300 head of grade Holstein cows at Windsor Valley Dairy LLC — split half and half between a double-eight parallel milking parlor and four robotic milking units. In the spring of 2020, Molly decided to take a leap and fully embrace her love for the industry by returning full time to her family’s dairy.
