A Special Bond

 

by Mary Reiman

When my sister and I were together last week, I told her I wanted to write about our last chapter, at least what felt to me like the last chapter of this part of our journey. Back in Iowa together, honoring our parents, visiting the farm, seeing the quiet beauty of fall at Lake Okoboji, with the vacationers gone and the rides at Arnold Park silent. Closure was upon us.

I wanted photos of what fall brings to this part of the country. As I turned onto the rural road, there was a woman and her child taking lunch to her husband in the field because he didn’t have time to stop while combining. The memories bubbled up and I found myself stopping for pictures of the flat golden cornfields, the combines whirring, more wind turbines that have been added since the last time I had driven on that road, and the autumn shades of vibrant trees and bushes.

Somehow, I knew I would weave those into this story about the land.

We both arrived in Milford about the same time, she from two hours north and me from four hours south. I always let her know when I am in South City so she can begin her trip and meet me at our hotel (we think it's ours since we've been going there so often in the past 10 years and they know us well). As always, we then ate lunch in our favorite cafe and headed to the farm. I made her stop along the way so I could take pictures of the vibrant trees,

the neighbor's field of hay bales,

and the combine methodically heading down the corn rows. So many of our childhood memories surrounding us on that sunny October afternoon. 

Then we drove into our driveway, stepped out of the car and stared at the land. That’s when I took this picture. And I realized none of this journey would have been the same without her. My sister. 

We have each spent this past year maneuvering through the process of understanding how to traverse the rest of our life’s journey without mom’s presence here on earth. We were well aware, especially my sister, of how to pay the farm bills, how to understand what CSR (Corn Suitability Rating) means, and who to talk with at the county courthouse to have our farm questions answered. 

More than ever, I realize my sister is the reason it’s not as hard to go back to Iowa, to visit the cemetery, to finalize the paperwork. She’s always been the organizer. She is meticulous. She was the executive secretary of a school. She took care of everyone and everything. Not sure where she got all those genes, but she’s made good use of her organizational skills throughout the years, especially when mom could no longer take care of her own taxes and paperwork. And when I am with her, I see and hear mom. Sometimes that is almost spooky, most of the time it is soothing.

I wasn’t going to write about her, I was going to write about the land. But last week I realized that being beside her on that flat, flat land is what makes my heart happiest. Sharing our love for the farm, listening to her talk about her great joy and appreciation for the soil that produces crops that ultimately help feed the world.  

Of course, the farm looks different. The house is no longer there. It has moved down the road to provide shelter and security and a home filled with love for another family. The groves of trees are gone. The front yard where we learned to ride our bikes, before mom let us out on the gravel road, is now an access point for the farm equipment. The barn, the corn crib, the cattle yards gone, now all cropland. 

But the driveway is still there, and when we drove in on Tuesday afternoon, we were instantly consumed with all the memories of growing up in that peaceful, safe, loving environment.

This is our world. These are our roots. We are grounded in the earth, on that beautiful quiet land.

It is so very clear to me that the land would not have the same value for me now if it were not for her. We share the love, admiration and history of the farm, and of our parents. No one else will pour over our childhood photos and be filled with such deep joy of those memories, or laugh as hard about our various hairstyles or about the fact our dog (Tootie) always sat on her lap instead of mine for photos. OK, maybe I'm still a little jealous about that! 

And she knows me. It is that simple. Since she was married, we have never lived in the same state. That hasn’t mattered. She’s always been my protector from afar.  I have always sensed it. She’s the one. The one I want to call when the news is good...or bad. She provides me with a sense of calm when I am with her, and it lingers with me long after we head off in opposite directions, back to our daily lives.

Thank you, Cindy, for your unconditional love. We do indeed share a special bond.  As you said in my birthday card, “I hope we never have to go more than 5 days without talking to each other.” 💕