An Oklahoma Girl

I am home from a whirlwind trip to Oklahoma. We arrived at my parents' homes on Wednesday evening and left Saturday evening--the fastest three days of my life. Those days were filled with family and cousins and great food and laughter and silly games and just incredible fun with the people I love the most in this world. Being in Oklahoma? It's like my soul just heaves a big sigh of happiness. Rolling plains and farm land and cattle and wide open fields with deserted pickups spell home like none other in my mind.

On Friday morning, I asked Dad to take me to the Moore Place. And so, we loaded up in his pickup and two of my nephews plus my girls all tagged along. We drove over to check on dad's cattle first and he noted that one of his cows had a baby the previous night. We watched it toddle after its mama, so precious and new and sweet. And then we drove on down country roads that wind for several miles through the farm lands of Oklahoma. Dad took us by the spot that used to house the home my grandma grew up in, and then we passed the old schoolhouse where my dad went to school for twelve years. Not much is left there other than a brick wall that juts up as a lonely reminder of what used to be. Several miles later, we arrived at the Moore Place.

The Moore Place was the land my great grandparents owned on my mom's side. It is 240 acres of grass and a moss-covered pond and a winding creek that symbolizes home in my mind. My childhood was spent on this land--roaming the creek bottoms, watching my dad herd cattle on Snip, our stubborn horse that served us well for many years, riding with my dad in the combine, and riding the flatbed behind the tractor as my sisters threw up bales of hay. I learned to drive on those country roads and I well-remember clenching that steering wheel as tightly as I could, driving down the road, the dust flying up behind me, a whopping twenty miles per hour as Dad laughed beside me. Are we ever going to get home? Speed up a little! 

Dad turned into the Moore Place and crossed a cattleguard, drove on a trail that has grown deep from years of use. The land is deserted currently--nothing but endless grass waving in the wind. We drove up to the top of a hill, turned around, and slowly began inching our way back to the main road. "Had enough?" Dad said.

Never, Dad. I can never get enough of home.

We rode back to my dad's home that is nestled on the land that he grew up on. I find that baffling really--how much life that flows through my bloodline has lived out their lives where I now trod. I need to ask my dad how that land where he lives came into the family as I don't know the story of its origin. But I do know that my dad was born there and if my memory serves me correctly, my grandpa grew up there. It is 240 acres of farmland with a highway that stretches in front of it and endless prairie on all sides. I remember as a young girl thinking other states were so much prettier than Oklahoma. We didn't have majestic mountains, emerald green, rolling waves and sandy beaches. We only had miles and miles of red dirt and wind that blew a gale. But now? Well, now it is breathtaking. Now I see the waving wheat fields and grazing cattle that have miles of pasture to roam with babies toddling after, and friendly farmers who wave because you just might be a neighbor and sunsets that paint the sky.

I am thankful that my kids, too, relish their childhood memories on that land. Someday they will treasure it as I do as it will spell home to them as well. And someday I won't be here--I will just be a memory...and then...well, eventually, I won't even be that. But land? Land lasts forever. Land brings security and family and a commonality to those who gather there. Land brings memories and stories and history and tradition. It is what binds a family

As we drove away, heading for North Carolina, on Saturday evening, I just soaked in the sights, breathed it in so that I could hold that picture in my mind through the months until I'm back to visit.

Don't get me wrong. I am happy where I live. When we drove over the mountain pass on our way to Asheville on Sunday morning, I couldn't help but smile at the reality that I was back in the place I now call home. But no matter where I am, no matter how old I am--

Down deep? I am just a small town, Oklahoma girl.

The Very Best Gift of All

I love Christmastime. Have I said this a million times? Probably so. But it is the time of year that just fills me up  (yeah--it feels me up in a way it shouldn't too): twinkling lights and ornaments on trees and cozy sweaters and steaming hot chocolate and blustery weather and my dad's fudge that is so delectable that no other fudge compares so why bother, and Oklahoma and family and the list just goes on and and on and on.

I remember as a little girl that all of my great-aunts came to visit their mom (my great grandmother) who lived about 20 miles away from us. And so, every Christmas we would load up and go visit them. In my memory, we went several times during their stay--but that could be wrong as I was just a young girl at the time. But oh how I loved my aunts. The house rang with laughter and hugs and they always took such a personal interest in me--asking questions and making me feel so loved.

Christmas time, back in the day, was all about celebrating with our immediate family and our extended family and it was simply magical.

Even now, as a 48 year old adult, we still go home for Christmas. It's quite a trek--over 1000 miles--and this year my time is limited as I only have have a total of 5 days since I am not taking time off. But skipping Oklahoma? Not an option. And so, this coming Tuesday the 5 of us will squeeze into our car and head out at 3:00 p.m. when I get off work for a whirlwind trip to the land that will always spell home in my book. We haven't quite figured out yet if we are going to "motel" it along the way as we are toying with the idea of driving all night. But we're not particularly good at that sort of thing so...we'll see, I guess.

Yesterday when I was at work I had to run over to the Courthouse and there on the second floor was a tree that rose up so majestically, covered in lights and glistening bulbs. I just stopped for a minute and took it all in. Breathtaking.

This coming Sunday is our family Christmas Day. We never celebrate on the actual Christmas Day as we are rarely, if ever, home. So we try to make the day extra special: we cook something we wouldn't normally cook, watch a Christmas movie or go to one in the theater, drive around and look at Christmas lights, and then, of course, open gifts. And when we open gifts, we take turns by going around in a circle so that we can make the "magic" last. This aspect of our family Christmas is especially hard on Jace. He wants to just tear into every last gift as quickly as possible.

When I was a kid, that's exactly what we did. I remember sitting on the floor, lining up all of my gifts from big to small, and then carefully choosing which gift I would open. I tried to save what I considered the best gift for last, making it last as long as possible.

This past Monday was our staff Christmas party. One of the traditions of that party is to take a gift for your child to open. We bought Jace a basketball hoop that hangs on a door and has an inflatable basketball that comes with it. Jace has gone through a million of these but we've always bought really cheap ones that are cardboard and flimsy and last about a minute. This one was only fifteen bucks but it is made to last and so, we figured it would make the perfect staff party gift. Jace, however, has hit a very self-conscious stage of life and so when I picked it up, he looked at me quizzically. "Is that going to embarrass me?"

I laughed. "Jace! Why would I give you something that would embarrass you? I think you'll like it!"

He wasn't convinced. "I'm worried, Mom. I don't think I want to open that one."

"I think you do, Jace--but if you don't want to, that's fine. You don't have to take anything at all."

And so he reached under the tree and picked up small package that he thought looked much more presentable and much less embarrassing: "Here. Let's take this one."

And I laughed. I tried really hard to not laugh too hard as I didn't want to give anything away. But what he didn't know is that he was trying to trade his basketball hoop for a package of underwear! And so, I said, "Believe me, Jace--you'd much prefer this gift to that one."

And so, we headed out the door for the party bearing the basketball hoop and a very skeptical Jace.

After we had stuffed ourselves silly with a scrumptious Italian dinner, the kids took off to do their thing and open their gifts. Shortly after, Jace came running over to where I was sitting. "Thanks for the basketball hoop, Mom! I love it! It was the perfect gift!"

When I am home for Christmas, my parents' homes will ring with laughter and love and the joy of being with the people I love the very best in this world. The Oklahoma wind will blow as I ride with my dad to the Moore Place to check on the cattle. We will play Rook at my dad's and eat cheese and crackers that my sister Jessie and her family always brings. We will cram into my mother's living room and the kids (who are more young adult now than kids) will make up the silliest of games to play that will have the walls shaking with hilarity. We will tell stories and go to church on Christmas Eve, all scooting into a pew and spilling into the next as there are too many of us for just one. And I will look around and my heart will swell with the wonder of being with these incredible people who have my heart.

Going home for Christmas? It's the perfect gift: the very best gift of all.