We’ve been out here in our little house on the windy prairie 12 years this month. When we moved out here, we only had Lucy (who is now 13) and I was pregnant with Margaret. The drive into town seemed so long, and we were all alone out here. We had a land phone line, but every phone call was long distance, so there was no one to talk to except each other. That is not a complaint. I loved the solitude that allowed us to get to know one another without too much distraction.
The years have passed quickly and quietly. We now have 10 children, and something between 12 and 20 hens. The closest Walmart is closer than it was 12 years ago, and the drive into town doesn’t seem that long any more. Still, it is a quiet life; a good life. A few chickens, a few kids, dreams of a cow and feeding our family from our bit of earth. I wish everyone could experience this kind of peace, even amidst worries of paying the mortgage on time. It is quiet enough to hear God’s voice and lively enough to keep us young (or insane. I can never tell which). God is good. We have what we need most of the time, and we learn to trust in Him when we don’t.