Why I Love the Midwest

This is near my corner of the planet and embodies all the things that I like the most about the Midwest Illinois, U.S.A.

Like ribbons in a wind, we blend together old and new. This became tangible as new wind turbines are planted next to farms like this which still wear their antique cousins; windmills once used as well pumps to bring water up from underground rivers for livestock and home.

It’s a land that carries a need for space and respectable distance. Farms are not within shouting distance of one another, yet doors are always open for the loan of a cup of sugar or the abundance of the garden harvest.

It’s a resilient land that can overcome drought or tornados, much like the original pioneers who traveled this way over dusty trails in covered wagons. A place where whole mornings can be spent discussing rain fall and the cost of a bushel of corn over a morning’s coffee at the diner, just to be repeated again tomorrow.

It is the Heartland of America, named after the generous hand it uses to greet a strange and the dedication it shows to heritage and home. The land was cleared by families who raised barns and reared children; who often lived simple and uncomplicated lives; land and possessions passing from generation to generation, each leaving a distinct mark with their passing.

It’s an area filled with color, where the horizon holds mountains of gold and purple only during the sunset and where bands of dumpling shaped clouds dapple their shade over green fields that play a cat and mouse game with the wind. Winter brings with it moisture that replenishes the earth and summer draws up sweat that mixes back with the soil in an unbroken chain. It’s a place that holds the purest sky blues, the golden yellows of countless miles of earth warmed by the sun’s face and the greens that insure that life continues God’s promise of abundance.

We, who call this soil home, laugh easily, celebrate as a community, toil to feed the world, and respect what has gone before. We understand heritage and mourn loss. We are a people moved by the seasons but hold onto the dogged belief that time is a ribbon. A ribbon that is tied between the echoe’s of the past and the growing demands of the future. We often watch our youth stretch their wings in hope of glory in big cities, only to return with a migration sense of home when time comes to raise a family.

It is my home and it holds my heart. I have left and returned. I was born in this state and am fairly confident that my bones will rest under her blanket. This is reason my camera loves the country life, and though she strays and I dream of vacations beyond her borders; it is the place I call home.