Piercing Thoughts

John Denver, you’ve got a point.

I laughed to myself last week as I drove through rural backroads and the 1971 hit ‘Country Roads, Take Me Home’ played in my head while on my way to a spring baseball season opener.

Headed toward the Village of Wilton in Monroe County’s Driftless Area on Thursday with country tunes blaring in my car, I caught myself taking note of moments that seemed regular.

One pasture showcased a herd of cattle grinding grass, their heads nodding as my vehicle occupied an often quiet road. A farmhouse near the field showed its age, and a man covered in Carhartt work clothes and boots headed toward a barn on the property.

It brought me a moment of, ‘Holy smokes, dude. Life is wonderful.’

Driving past the rural homesteads made me think of my maternal uncles and cousins, who continue to work on family farms in the small community of Seneca of charming Crawford County.

My mind drifted to my childhood, when occasional summer weekends were spent visiting the farms and fishing with family we didn’t see all that often. I thought of the numerous kittens our uncles jokingly tried to send home to be a new family pet for my brother Zach and I, their goal being to get a rise out of their younger sister, our mother.

I remembered riding the all-terrain vehicles at my uncle Dean’s farm and him teaching us how to feed the young calves.

The home made me think of my own family’s history, the farms created by my departed grandfather Joe and how much work, love and passion has helped keep the walls in these homes together.

Only minutes later I passed a more modern home, and I thought of the inspiration for the construction. Was it a retired couple hoping to enjoy a country experience they never had? Was it their return to what used to be an everyday living? Maybe it was a young couple preparing to start a family of their own.

As my mind twisted and debated the possibilities, I thought about my parents who grew up working and contributing to their family farms. Though they don’t operate such a farm today, they allowed my brother and I the natural freedom to explore the outdoors by moving our family to rural Coon Valley.

We learned how to hunt, how to enjoy the outdoors and spent many weekends in our youth exploring the woods behind the house. Sometimes we returned with an ‘artifact’ of sorts we’d dug up near the pond, and other days we only came home with holes in our jeans from a barbwire fence and stories that sometimes suffered from inflation in a young mind.

Nearby on my trek last week, two children joined a family member in a game of dodgeball on a trampoline. I lost plenty of such games to our neighbor on the hilltop of St. Joseph’s Ridge.

The cruise button on my car held steady last Thursday, and it matched my memories when I passed a small community gas station.

I thought of Grandpa Joe, who despite battling chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) and Farmer’s Lung, frequently made a point to take Zach and I for a trip to the nearby gas station, Greener’s Corner, for scoops of ice cream whenever we were in town.

We didn’t get to participate in a lot of activities with our grandfather due to his sensitive health, but we were always excited to spend time with him however we could. Even now, a good scoop of ice cream sends my memories to those yesterdays, and passing the gas station on Thursday placed a smile on my face.

“Do you think that same gas station is readying to sell loads of fishing lures with spring and summer sneaking up,” I asked myself.

Memories of my uncle Ron taking Zach and I fishing followed as I remembered how brutal we were at watching our fishing lines but how good we were at getting them tangled.

Ron used to refer to us by our names in reverse — we were lovingly doted ‘Neb’ and ‘Hcaz’ (pronounced Huh-cuz), and to this day he is our uncle ‘Nor’.

I don’t recall the biggest fish we caught or even the types of fish we were reeling in, but to this day I cherish the company we shared those memories with and the joy they brought us.

As I neared a baseball field filled with two small high school teams preparing for a clash in 40-degree March weather, I thought of watching older cousins play prep football.

Again and again, country roads repeatedly reminded me of a loving family last week.

Take some time. Slow down. 

Enjoy the pathways, the stories they carry and the people you travel them with.